Harry Potter and the Children of X
by Xakko
Summary: Illyana accidentally takes Colossus, Shadowcat, Rachel Grey and Nightcrawler on a trip to England with unintended consequences. A continuation of my xakkoverse, crossing over with Harry Potter during the time of Goblet of Fire
1. Movie Night

Harry Potter and the Children of X

Chapter one - Movie Night

"Under the curtains, the exits are closed

Go now and no one will know.

If you try later it may be too late

Don't read the lines and get

Lost in the lights on the stage"

-Enter the Haggis, "The Apothecary"

It was the early 1990's, when a single mother somewhere in Scotland awoke to a significant popping sound. She reached over and turned on the light. A tall, wizened man with a long white hair and beard, clad in a dressing gown, was standing in her bedroom.

"Ah, Ms. Rowling, you are awake. Excellent." He spoke softly, and as she looked behind half-moon spectacles into those twinkling eyes she knew she'd seen him before. "There is much we need to discuss."

It suddenly dawned on her, and she shook herself. "This is a dream. Only a dream. You're a character from a story I'm trying to write."

"It may do you good to think so, madam, I dare say it will ease your mind." His voice dropped, becoming serious, "And it is about this story that I must speak with you."

She wrapped her blanket tighter around her. "What of it?"

"I know of no easy way to say this, Ms. Rowling, and I do not mean to impugn your delightful writing skills, but you are what is known in the Muggle world, as a member of homo sapiens superior, that is to say, a mutant…"

"Me? A- a- a mutant? It can't be!" Mutants were not unknown in Great Britain, but they were rare. The telly had reported on the early exploits of Magneto, and of those X-men, but to think that she was one was nigh inconceivable. "I'm as normal as the next person."

She paused, peering at the robed figure, then continued, "And even if I were, how would you know? If this isn't a dream, and you aren't just playing a horrible joke on me, then you would be a wizard, not a… mutant."

"Ah, this is true. I am neither dream nor cruel joke, but I am indeed a wizard. And normally our worlds would not interact." He smiled, sadly, as if a painful memory had come to mind. "Alas, several years ago, my world, that of magic, did intrude most terribly upon yours. You were caught in an attack by the followers of the Dark Wizard Voldemort-"

"Death Eaters?" she scoffed, "Really, this has gone on quite far enough. I'm ringing the police now." She reached for the phone at her bedside.

A wrinkled hand shot out with remarkable speed. "_Diffindo_." The phone cord fell, cut neatly in twain. "That would be inadvisable, madam. I cannot stress the importance of what I am about to reveal to you. You are a mutant, and when those same Death Eaters assaulted you, it catalyzed your ability to peer through dimensional barriers. Even though our Obliviators subjected you to a Memory Charm to erase the trauma of the attack, I have a theory that the magical nature of the attack caused your Inner Eye to peer through all the spells and Charms that would normally keep our society hidden."

Joanne's eyes darted nervously to the severed cord, fear gripping her chest. "I don't understand… what does it matter? Who would believe a simple children's book is real? Even if I sell my story, I don't see how it would endanger your world."

"Oh, I have no fears of the Muggle world reading your text in the slightest. It is my world that causes my apprehension. And your own safety as well…"

"My safety…?" she said in a very quiet voice.

The old man smiled, "You have nothing to fear from me, Ms. Rowling. You have written of me, and I hope that gives you some inclination to trust me. My concerns are more exotic. As I said, your ability is to peer through dimensions. You see not what is happening here, in the world we live in, but that of another world, apparently, I think, one where time moves more quickly than here.

"In this world, you see, Harry Potter is a small boy, still living with his Aunt and Uncle in Little Whinging. He has not come into his magical heritage, and will not for many, many years yet. If you are to publish your works, especially if you are able to print the whole story, you will place our entire existence in jeopardy."

"But why?"

"Most obviously, there is the danger to Harry. Were his enemies know where to look for him, he would never be able to leave the protections on that house on Privet Drive. I have little doubt that Voldemort's supporters would target him and his family, if they only knew where to look. But beyond that," he paused, moving to a window and peering through to the streets below, "Imagine knowing the ending of a war we have yet to fight. Knowing the costs involved, the sacrifices needed. Now give that knowledge to both sides of the war, that both sides can see the mistakes they will make, learn the secrets of the other. I believe you can see the result – the events will not unfold as they did. Human nature will cause us to pursue alternate paths, to save some, to destroy others before their time. It casts all in doubt, destroying the foundation of our reality, and quite possibly yours as well. And can you also imagine what those who would misuse the knowledge would do to you? You and your loved ones would never be safe."

Shaking, she asked, "You – you are going to erase my memory, take away my knowledge… you can't! I need this, I need to be able to support myself – my baby!"

The wizard peered at her over steepled fingers. "I could attempt a Memory Charm, but I have no guarantee that would work."

"You- you aren't going to k-kill me?"

"Me? Oh, you do have quite the imagination, my dear. And I would not wish to deprive the Muggle world of the amusement your works will provide. If such a time it so happens that our worlds do come in contact, I can think of no better ambassador than your story. But something must be done. I will, of course, make it so you do not remember this meeting, but that you will instead continue to believe that the images you seen are naught but your own mind. At worst, you may think of this encounter as the flimsiest of dreams."

"What will you do?"

"Oh, I have a spell in mind. I've been crafting it since I first realized what you were doing. A touch of Confundus, a modicum of Oblivio, wrapped in a Disillusionment Charm, with a Protean Charm to project it through perpetuity. It is a tricky one to cast, and I imagine that perhaps six wizards in all of history could successfully create and invoke it. I am, as you know, quite a clever wizard, perhaps the greatest of my age. The responsibility falls to me to protect my people. I will make it so Muggles will be able to read your works and all that stems from them, but Wizarding folk will not. A Witch or Wizard attempting to read your book will find themselves disinterested, and it will slip from their minds as quicksilver. The knowledge will simply not exist for anyone connected to the magical society."

Joanne Rowling nodded, her mind reeling at the idea. "I don't like it, but yes, I do… trust you."

"Excellent," he said, softly. "And thank you."

"Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes?"

"I have to ask – why? Why are you subjecting Harry to such a horrible life?"

Albus Dumbledore looked back at her sadly. "I hope… I pray… that it is necessary. To temper him, prepare him for the hardships he will face. I fear, deep in my heart, that I am wrong and that I am turning him into that which destroyed his parents. But I must trust in my own judgment, or else all I have done and prepared for is lost."

"Now sleep, madam," he spoke softly, muttering "_Oblivio_" and pointing his wand at her. Her eyes grew dazed, and she blinked several times, even as he vanished with a soft "pop."

The woman shook her head, wondering why she felt vaguely uneasy, but feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Her novel would sell, she knew it now. She laid her head on her pillow and was soon asleep.

. . .

An hour later, there was another soft popping sound in her bedroom. The wizard, his face glistening with sweat and leaning heavily on a staff, pointed his wand at the telephone by the bed and whispered "_Reparo_", softly berating himself for getting careless in his old age. He Apparated again, back to Hogsmeade for a well earned glass of butterbeer.

* * *

The two women burst through the door of the mansion, arm in arm, laughing at a rather naughty joke. Peter saw them, and wondered if he should run and lock himself in his room, his ears burning almost reflexively. He knew that whatever his fiancé and sister were discussing, it was most likely very, very wicked, and most probably involved him in some way.

He reflected on the wonder of it all. A year ago, his sister was considered dead. And now she was back, alive and hearty and had immediately resumed her close friendship with Katerina. He smiled, and in his hesitation, was lost, as the pair had seen him.

"Peter!" exclaimed Illyana, running up and hugging her brother. "We were just talking about you!" Since her return, she'd begun to exhibit a great need for physical contact.

Maintaining a calm face was a challenge as he returned her embrace, "I am awash in trepidation at the thought."

Kitty gave her best friend a gentle push, "Hey, no hogging my fiancée, blondie!" She reached up and pulled him down into a soft kiss. "So, Piotr Nikolievitch, do you have plans for tonight?"

His eyes darted from one mischievous face to the other, and said, "Why do I feel I am about to be in a great deal of trouble?"

"That's why you're marrying me, silly! I'm your knight in shining armor - or at least, your ninja in non-reflective spandex. And it won't be too much trouble, I promise! It'll be fun!"

He could only sigh. "Faced with my two favorite people in the whole world, how could I refuse?"

Illyana took a step back and crossed her arms, looking a little pensive. She spoke, "Well, you could say'no', or even 'no thank you' if you're being polite. Or you could run screaming in terror. You could armor up and pretend to be a statue, but then we'd put you out in the garden for the pigeons…"

With a pained expression, he objected, "Little snowflake, you know that is not what I meant…"

She moved forward again and wrapped her arms around him, leaning in close. "You know I'm kidding, right Peter?" she asked with her blue eyes wide. There was a vulnerability there that pained his heart, and he nodded with a grin.

"So what nefarious schemes do you two lovely ladies have planned for me?"

Kitty pulled some cases out of her bag, "Movie night! It's a Harry Potter filmfest in the theatre tonight… and you're making the popcorn!"

Peter sighed – the movies were all right – he'd seen most of them in the theatre with Kitty, but it wasn't exactly great cinema. And they got confusing if you hadn't read the books, which required time that his life as an X-man and a teacher at the Xavier Institute simply did not afford.

Still, he was cheered by their attitude, and made his way to the kitchen and started pulling out the necessary components. A large pot, oil, popping corn. A smaller pot with real butter – it would do them no harm to deviate from Dr. Reyes's nutritional guidelines for a night. With a deft hand, he maintained just enough motion to prevent the kernels from scorching, and the machine gun pop of exploding corn soon reached his ears. He poured it into a large bowl, and carefully drizzled the melted butter over it. He fetched a six-pack of soda from the fridge. It would be a good night.

* * *

"An entire subculture, living among us? I'm sorry, Charles, but I find that a little difficult to believe."

"Is it so difficult? I understand your skepticism, Iron Man, but the Inhumans lived for how many centuries without notice?

"Remote islands or the Himalayas are not central London. Or Salem, or Paris, or any of a thousand other places these alleged wizards are hiding in plain sight. I'm struggling to see how a sizable population could live completely off the grid, undetectable by the most powerful of satellites?"

Professor Xavier's eyes narrowed. He was trying not to pry, but there was no doubt about it. There was a certain degree of agitation in the Golden Avenger's synthesized voice, almost fear. Fear of the unknown. "Nevertheless, I have spoken with a representative of theirs, a Professor Dumbledore, while investigating a nascent mutant in London. I was also able to determine that the British Prime Minister is aware of their existence."

Tony Stark did not like being caught unawares. The idea that there were thousands of powerful beings – an entire society – that he had not factored into his equations was bad enough. But that Xavier was willing to let them go, unmonitored, unchecked. The fool.

"These self-named 'wizards' are not unknown in the Magical community," Dr. Stephen Strange spoke up to the assembled members. "The Ancient One told me that their origins are lost to antiquity. The source of their power would appear to be internal; I've studied them and cannot seem to replicate their abilities, even with one of their wands, which are the focus of their innate abilities. I saw little benefit to pursuing my investigation, and my presence amongst them was decidedly unwelcome. The entire society is quite nearly xenophobic, wanting nothing to do with the outside world. One of their Ministry members went so far as to attempt to modify my memory of my time there.

"While they lay great store in bloodline, with those who can trace their magical ancestry back the furthest held in the most esteem, there are still new members being born on a nearly daily basis. It is my belief that they are a separate offshoot of humanity, much like mutants."

"Homo sapiens veneficus?" suggested Reed Richards. "'Wizarding Man'," he translated, "although I suppose the word could also mean 'poisonous'. It wouldn't surprise me. Our genome has been compromised multiple times in history, from the Celestials to the Kree. These 'wizards' are probably the magical equivalent of Inhumans or Deviants."

Tony Stark was agape behind his helmet, "How can you all be so blasé about this? How many hundreds - how many thousands of people are we talking about here? How many Britons were killed in that war Charles just mentioned?" He threw up his gauntlets in exasperation. "This is exactly the reason we need these meetings. Stephen has known of these people all along, people that constitute a potential threat, and if it hadn't been for the Professor mentioning them, we would have remained in ignorance."

"They are hardly a significant threat, no more so than others in our respective rogues' galleries. They have some limited mind control techniques, curses of varying degrees of efficacy, and one specifically for killing. As Professor Xavier indicated, they have the capacity to interfere with most physics based technology, particularly at that school in Scotland."

"I believe," Xavier said, "that it is best at this juncture to allow them to live their lives in peace. The United Kingdom's version of S.H.I.E.L.D. – called S.T.R.I.K.E. – should provide an adequate warning if intervention is required."

"Agreed, then?" asked Richards. And despite Stark's fuming, the motion carried.

* * *

"Oh my god, he is so young!" exclaimed Illyana, watching the opening scene of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_. "Who knew he'd grow up to be such a hottie..."

Kitty laughed, "I know! Did you see the pictures of him from _Equus_? Wow... just wow."

Peter coughed uncomfortably.

"Kitty, you total perv! He's, like, four years younger than you!" The blond Russian girl laughed, "Old ladies like you shouldn't be looking! Besides, you already have your man. Not that I see what you see in him, but you got him to give you a ring and everything!" She shot a smirk over at her brother, who rolled his eyes dramatically.

The chestnut haired beauty snuggled close to her fiancé, "You know exactly what I see in him, you tried harder than anyone to get us back together. Don't you remember that story you told around the campfire – 'Lockheed the Space Dragon and his pet girl Kitty'?"

"I can't believe you remember that!" she laughed, "What can I say? You were miserable apart. I am glad you two figured things out while I was... away... because I don't think I could have dealt with you two staring longingly at one another from across the room anymore. Just like Ron and Hermione..."

"Gah!" exclaimed Kitty, "You don't think - me and Peter - are Ron and Hermione? Ugh! Totally, totally ugh! That whiny little brat so doesn't deserve her!" She paused, reflecting, "Now, maybe her and Krum - that might've worked."

Peter shifted in his seat, trying to pay attention to the movie, but finding the banter between the two friends both amusing and reassuring. "I wouldn't think you would identify with the character of Hermione, Katya. While certainly the brightest of them all, she seems much too reserved and cautious to be you."

"Yeah, she is a bit of a goody two shoes. And totally obsessed with schoolwork and studying. Not to mention she's bossy as hell, and not that much fun for the first couple books..."

"Ah, she is bossy. That explains why you relate."

"Peter!" she cried, but before she could continue he had pulled her into a passionate kiss. "You big goof-" His lips trailed searing kisses along her neck. "Oh, you... you... c'mere, you."

"Ewwwww! Totally not a private space here!"

"Maybe your eyes should be on the screen then, and not - mmmmmm - staring at the two consenting adults showing their affection for one another."

Illyana made fake retching sounds. "That's it – I'm going to get a drink."

"But there is cola right there on the table," Peter pointed out.

"Some of us need to watch our girlish figures, big brother, and you forgot the diet." She walked towards the kitchen. "And the vodka," she added, under her breath.

* * *

Fingers danced over the panel, stirring up dust motes that had collected over the years. A button was pressed; red lights flickered and grew brighter. A surge of green crackled around the glass and steel sarcophagus, and again. Silt was wiped away to provide a better view of the enclosed figure and the energies that caused it to spasm repeatedly. A screen display tracked the progress of long dormant biologic processes being restarted, ticking off each category with a green dot, from the first tentative breaths to the initial firing of the neurons in the cerebral cortex.

A slider moved left to right. The template secured to the adjacent bed convulsed as the device ripped years of memories back through a tangle of cables all leading back into the sarcophagus.

Two sets of eyes opened wide, two screams erupted from two mouths.

And then there was silence.

The template lay still, eyes still wide, but unseeing. A trickle of blood congealed slowly around the nose. The chest expanded fitfully, and then was still.

A hand reached a lever and pulled, and the top of the sarcophagus rose slowly, releasing a cloud of steam.

"You know your task."

The figure's voice was unsteady, "Yes, Master."

"Good. Take the robe. Take the wand. A servant will be along to take you to France. Madame Maxine is expecting you."

* * *

The second movie was playing, and Kitty was happily snuggled up against Peter. Illyana had taken to throwing popcorn at them whenever they got too comfortable, even as she watched the screen.

"I wonder if Alan Rickman knows..." she said thoughtfully, taking a long drink from her glass.

Kitty shot her a look, and brushed a kernel from her chestnut hair. "Knows what?"

The blonde girl's grin was almost sinister in the soft light emanating from the screen, "Just that he's destined to be my devoted love slave."

Peter nearly choked on his popcorn, and was forced to sit up in a paroxysm of coughing. "Illyana Nikolievna!"

"What's the matter, brother dear? Your little snowflake not as pure and white as you thought?" She smiled, but her eyes had an edge to them. "Or is it that he's too old for me? What can I say, you two have corrupted me."

With her fiancé stunned, Kitty sized up the situation. "Not very nice, 'Yana. I was settled in rather cozy, you know." She put an arm around him. "She's teasing you, Peter. Aren't you, blondie?"

"Well, maybe a little. He's pretty dreamy, tho'." She glanced at her brother, "You can breathe again, Piotr. I'm not going to 'port over to England to stalk him. Besides, he was cuter as Hans Gruber in Die Hard."

They all settled back into their seats, watching as the three protagonists, the so-called Golden Trio, with little to no help from the surrounding adults, solved the mystery and defeated the monster.

Kitty leaned back, "It would've worked if not for those pesky kids!"

"Da, Katya," replied Peter, "It does seem as if the teachers do not do the best of jobs in protecting their students."

"'Snot that much different from my time in the X-babies," asked Illyana, using her friend's derogatory term for the New Mutants. "Or even the current buncha snot-nosed brats that make up the junior team."

"I'd like to think it is. Most of your mischief happened while the senior class was away. All of this stuff happened right under the noses of allegedly powerful and wise wizards and witches." Kitty pointed out. "But I guess it wouldn't be much fun if Dumbledore saved the day every time."

A while later, as the credits to the second movie rolled, Kitty spoke up, "Should I fast forward through to the last scene with Kenneth Branaugh?"

Peter looked at her quizzically. "Last scene?"

"Oh, yeah, you'd run to the restroom before that when we saw it in the theatre..."

He blushed a bit, "Well, it was a very long movie..."

"... not to mention an obscenely large soda!" she laughed.

"Speaking of drinks," Illyana said, "mine seems to be empty. I'll pop out and refresh it…"

Kitty nodded as she pressed the fast forward button on the remote, making the names fly up the screen. "How many effects companies did they need to make one House Elf? Sheesh..." She hit play, stopping just as the screen resolved into Branaugh, as Gilderoy Lockhart suffering from a backfired memory charm, promoted a book entitled Who Am I?

There was a soft chuckle from Peter, clearly amused by the character's comeuppance; self-aggrandizement was not one of his favorite traits. Then he spoke, "I am a little confused. The control of the little redheaded girl by the villain was a major plot point, but she was barely in the film. And she is the sister of one of the major characters, and three others, yes? How could they be so ignorant and callous to her? Is it this way in the book?"

"It ain't always that simple, Pete," came the voice of Sam Guthrie, who'd joined them halfway through the movie. "I know I always try t' be there for my family, but sometimes things get in the way. 'Specially when you're a kid, an' you're just out on your own for the first time." His voice was light, but there was a tightness around his eyes, as they could see he was thinking about his brother Jay, how he had missed the signs leading up to his apparent death at the hands of William Stryker. Although that had turned out to be a Skrull imposter, explaining why his healing factor had not worked, the guilt still weighed heavily on Cannonball.

"Sam, that wasn't your faul-."

"In mah head, I may know, but in mah heart, Ah should've been a better brother. Ah've been blessed that Ah've gotten a second chance."

They sat in silence for a moment, as Illyana came back in and loaded the next DVD -_ The Prisoner of Azkhaban_ - into the player. Looking to change the subject, she spoke, "Sure Ginny was a bit of a twit at first, but she def'nitely gets better later on." She hiccupped and giggled a bit. "Excuse me."

* * *

Peter Pettigrew knew he was in far, far over his head. The castle loomed in front of them, seemingly impregnable. Soldiers lined the battlements, pointing long sticks at him. He'd been a mediocre student at best in Muggle Studies, but he knew that they had weapons that could kill a man as surely as any wand, and just as fast.

The stone causeway seemed to stretch interminably before them. He felt his steps falter, then forced the shakiness out of his knees and continued forward.

"Master, I don't mean to question your judgment…"

A hissing, high-pitched voice escaped the backpack the short, rodent-like man wore. "But you do, Wormtail. And this is why you never rose above your station. Your cowardice shames your blood."

"Yes, Master. But seeking aid from this... muggle king..." Pettigrew stammered, "I-I've heard things, even when we were in Albania. And those muggles in the village. They fear him, Master, as much as wizards rightfully fear you. They say he consorts with demons and devils…"

"And you believe such superstitious nonsense? They are the dirt beneath your boots. This 'Von Doom' may cause his subjects to cower before him, " Voldemort sneered, "but we are wizards. We are gods amongst men, and shall not be cowed by one such as he." He laughed, hollowly, "Besides, it is at his invitation that we approach. Let him think we are at his mercy, that we bargain from weakness. You may find it impressive that he discovered our existence; I say even a blind goblin may stumble upon a Knut. I am more impressed that he recognizes that we are people of power and extended the invitation to examine the artifact he has unearthed, as befitting one of my stature. Even in this wretched state." The deformed creature spat out his words, "If the Muggle king ends up being worthy of my compassion, I may allow him to continue to reign as my vassal once I restore myself to power. Otherwise, I will make him my puppet, or will dispose of him and install a replacement of my choosing."

"Of course, M-master," stammered Pettigrew, "It will be as you s-say."

"Perhaps I shall kill him and put you in that armor in his place. It may take some modifications, but a little pain is nothing to fear in my service, isn't it?"

His servant gulped audibly, then nodded nervously, with sweat breaking out on his brow. "Y-yes, my Lord." He continued up the causeway, eyes wary.

"Continue, Wormtail," came the hiss. "We do not want to keep our host waiting. If he has indeed found the cauldron, it will go far towards restoring me to my rightful power."

* * *

_The Goblet of Fire_ was playing now.

"No Privet Drive scene in this one. No Diagon Alley either," commented Kitty, somewhat wistfully. "You know, Peter, I kinda miss London."

"Oh?" he asked, "Did you want to show off your engagement ring to your ex, Wisdom?"

Kitty laughed, "Oh, that's bad. I'm sure he got the message after our last talk, anyway.

But really, we haven't had a chance to get over there since Meggan came back."

"Now there is an idea," came a German accented voice from the door. "An Excalibur reunion is long overdue." Kurt Wagner, the blue furred mutant better known as Nightcrawler, walked in with the red-headed Rachel Grey on his arm.

"You two are home early," Kitty commented, "I thought the filmfest lasted for another hour or so."

Rachel scowled. "Apparently Mr. John David Campbell, host of `Our Modern Crusade' and all around swell guy, got a tweet that we were at the theater and sent his brain dead audience to protest. Kurt tried to talk sense to them, but you know bigots like that are allergic to thinking…"

Kurt sighed, "Anyway, the owner asked us to come another time, on the house. He was very apologetic…"

"Not enough to treat us with any respect. You're too forgiving sometimes."

"Perhaps," he admitted, "But then, we'd already seen _The Thief of Bagdad _and _The Black Pirate_ and I felt that _The Taming of the Shrew_ was a bit of an anticlimax. Sometimes, in the face of unreasoning hatred – and relationship discord – discretion shows its worth."

"The Douglas Fairbanks marathon was your idea…"

"_Ja,_ and we seemed to both enjoy the first two films."

"Enough!" snapped Illyana. "That'sh quite enough bick- bickering outta you two! You should be ashu- ashamed of yerselves. I mean, serioushly. What will Brian an' Megg'n think of you fightin' when we see them!"

"Illyana," Kitty asked in a level tone, "What are you talking about?"

The blonde turned to her friend, "Oh you are sooooo cute when you're acting motherly! You said you wanna go see Brian an' Meg, so I'm gonna take us there. 'Smy power, remember?"

"Snowflake, are you… drunk?" Peter's voice was full of concern.

"Yup! I owe you a bottle a' vodka."

"Then I do not think you should be-"

Kitty cut in, "No drinking and teleporting, 'Yana."

"It is not a problem," Illyana said, her face a mocking serious. "I could do this 'port in my – hic – excuse me – in my shleep."

Kurt held up his hand, "Sam, can you go get Dr. Reyes?" When the young man ran off, he continued, "Illyana, as a fellow teleporter, I know I would never try such a risky maneuver under the influence…"

"Oh pish posh, fuzzy elf. Ish a shna-." She was wobbling on her feet, trying to snap her fingers. Peter was sneaking from behind, his arms reaching out to grasp hers. "Ish a schnap!" she said triumphantly.

She snapped her fingers.

The floor glowed white, one huge stepping disk.

A couple minutes later, a handful of teenagers came into the theater room.

"Um," said one, a girl who had taken to going exclusively by her codename, Hailstorm, "Are you guys done with the room? 'Cause we were gonna watch this movie?"

"Looks like no one's home," said Victor Borkowski, hopping into one of the chairs. "They left all their popcorn, though, and a DVD's running. Think something happened to them? Should we left someone know?"

"Nah," came a gravelly voice. "Prob'ly had a mission come up. You know how it is." Santo Vaccarro, better known as Rockslide, plopped down on a loveseat, his rocky form filling it completely. "Pop in the show, Haley."

"'K", she said. She pulled out _Goblet of Fire_ and placed it in the case. The TV flipped back to show _Attack of the Show_, with host Kevin Pereira talking to the hottest name in software – Douglas Ramsey, whose CypherLock Corp had come out of nowhere with top selling games for PC, game systems and mobile devices.

"Hey, isn't that guy a mutant?" asked Vic. "Former New Mutant, back from the dead."

"Yeah," Santo answered, "but a total wussbucket. Let's get that movie in, Haley."

Hailstorm finished inserting the disc and hit play. The logo for Fox Animation appeared.

"What is this one about?" asked a quiet Afghani girl named Sooraya.

"Oh, it's an old cartoon called _Anastasia_, about the last remaining survivor of the Russian Tsar. It's got Christopher Lloyd as a funny zombie Rasputin."

* * *

Author's note: Wow, been away for a while. Started this 2 years ago, had it on the back burner for ages. Important notes - Marvel is alleged to run on a three years to one sliding timescale, so the X-men have been in existence approximately 16-17 years as of 2012. The ultimate genesis of this story was a cameo in the pages of _New Excalibur,_ where a startled Harry, Hermione and Ron were nearly run over by the Juggernaut as he tried to save the day.


	2. Tripping Slantwise

Chapter Two - Tripping Slantwise

See that sparrow 'way down low, better not ask him why,  
He's down here wondering where to go, see how the sparrow flies.  
See that eagle 'way up there, better not ask him why,  
Got no worry, got no care, see how the sparrow flies.

- Cats Laughing, "See How The Sparrow Flies"

* * *

And they were no longer in Westchester anymore. They all fell into a defensive circle reflexively, blinking their eyes at the hazy light filtering down from the clouds above.

"There. London," Illyana smiled to her passengers, flashing the dimples in her cheeks. "Told you I could do it."

"This doesn't look like any part I remember," Kitty remarked with a slight frown.

"'Sa big place, London," the blond said with a slight hiccup, "I bet, I bet there's loads 'a places you haven' been!"

"Not so many, I think, where the people dress quite so – outlandishly."

"Wha'choo talkin' 'bout, Peter?" giggled the girl. She swayed gently in place as she looked around, nearly losing her balance. All around them were people clad in costumes, with robes featured predominantly. Livestock and exotic animals shared the busy cobblestone street.

"Ha ha," Rachel snarled, "When did you have time to set up the Danger Room – when you were slipping out to get the vodka?" She looked up, and said in a clear voice, "Voice override - end simulation."

Illyana laughed, "'Snot the Danger Room"

Crossing her arms, Rachel waited. When she realized the scenery wasn't changing, she frowned, "Fine, I'll shut it down telekinetically." Her brow furrowed, and her eyes went blank, glowing faintly in the soft light peeking down the street. "OK, so it's not the Danger Room. What did you do, Illyana – drop us in the middle of some renaissance faire?" Rachel said, her temper flaring.

"'Snot a ren faire either. I said we're in London, didn' I?"

Kitty peered more closely at the passersby. "Then either we've landed on set among the extras for another movie – or a Harry Potter convention." Her eyes flickered down, then widened. "But there's nary a camera or key grip to be found, and you'd think a convention would have demographics that would skew a tad younger. And neither would explain that."

They all followed her finger to a newspaper lying on the street. Realization dawned as they looked at one another. They'd seen that headline before- "Scenes of Terror at the Quidditch World Cup". But the shocking part was the black and white picture that accompanied the text, of a skull against the night sky with some sort of snake coming out of its open mouth.

The snake was moving.

They fell silent, oblivious to the stares of the pedestrians.

"OK, so I was off a li'l bit," Illyana said, her face serious, "But you have to admit, Diagon Alley is in London."

They all laughed awkwardly at the joke, except for Rachel, who was still irritated with the inebriated girl. "So, fine, you found this place. Now remind me again why we aren't back at the Institute?"

"I don't know if we want her teleporting again, Ray," Kitty said, chewing her bottom lip in thought. "At least, not until we're sure where we are."

"She just said it, didn't she? Somewhere in London."

"It's just that Diagon Alley may be subdimensional. It would be the easiest way to hide it, anyway. And even that's assuming she didn't toss us through some 'Well of Time' alternative universe accidentally." She paused, recalling the time she and Kurt were playing around with the Danger Room, and she'd inadvertently sent him traipsing through a myriad of fantastic, yet deadly, worlds. "That's actually the most likely scenario, isn't it? It's got to be more probable than Harry Potter existing in the real world."

Piotr was frowning - he'd pulled his cell phone from his front pocket, but the display had been unresponsive. "No signal," he commented. "And the emergency link is dead, also."

"Don't tell me we're trapped inside a damn kid's book," growled Rachel, not noticing that her elevated tone had started to attract a crowd.

"_Hem-hem!_" An insistent cough finally got her attention.

"Yes?" she demanded, testily.

"I certainly wouldn't want to seem impolite in asking, but are you Muggles?" asked a short, squat woman in a shockingly pink cardigan sweater,

"Are we what?"

_*Ray, she's asking if we're non-magical – normal humans. Let me handle this*_, Kitty thought at her. "Us? Muggles?" she forced a laugh, "Oh dear me, no! I'm sorry, we're Americans, we've just never been to England before, and our friends gave us this location as an Apparation point."

The woman frowned, pursing her lips disapprovingly. "Yanks, you say? I suppose that could explain things, then." She started to walk away, but then stopped, staring at Nightcrawler. "And, dare I ask, what manner of creature is that?"

"Creature? Oh, Kurt? Just a prank gone wrong." The young woman spoke quickly, "That's the last time he'll mix Polyjuice Potion with Flingleberry Juice, isn't that right?"

"Yes. Definitely," the blue furred mutant said in agreement. He'd affected an American accent.

Kitty pressed on, "We figured we'd stop at St. Mungo's while we're here, I mean, it's been a couple days now, and we hear that they've got much better healers than we have in the States."

That seemed to mollify the woman, and she sniffed a bit and bade them good day, walking off hurriedly.

"Is she gone?" Kitty asked her friends.

Piotr glanced quickly, "Not yet. She is talking to two others, a man and a woman, both in black robes with some sort of official looking insignia. There, she just went into a building."

"I don't think she believed me," she said, frowning, "and we're sticking out like Morlocks at a Purity meeting here. We need to duck down an alley, or find the Cauldron and get into London proper. There has to be some way we can see what Universe we've been dropped in." She turned to Rachel, "Are you reading anything off her?"

The redhead shrugged, "I wasn't trying anything beyond an immediate surface scan. She had pretty good shields, so I didn't want to push too hard." She concentrated, resting her eyes on the doorway the man had entered. "I can't find her at all now. Either she's scrambling, somehow, or she's just vanished."

Kitty nodded, "We have to assume she intends to investigate."

"Why?"

"Because," she replied, "that was Dolores Jane Umbridge. Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic and royal minder of everyone else's business." She shook her head, "Gotta admit – Rowling nailed it. She's toad enough to be old Mort Toynbee's twin sister."

Piotr nodded, still watching the building. "Katya, I saw a green flash through the window. Could that be their transport system?"

"Hey big brother, you were paying attention t' those movies after all!" Illyana laughed. "An' here I thought you were jus' humoring us." She impulsively hugged him. "I'm so proud of you!"

Kitty was considering her fiancé's comment. She flagged down one of the gawkers, a pimply young man in a fuchsia robe. "Excuse me, sir? We just got in from America, and I'm afraid our friends are playing a bit of a trick on us. Could you direct us to a place called the Leaky Cauldron?"

The man's eyes widened, then narrowed with suspicion. Then he mumbled something vaguely unintelligible before hurrying off down the street.

"Thanks!" Kitty said, forcing some cheer into her voice. She thought at Rachel, *_Did you get that*?_

_*Yes. It's just down on the left. But I think we need to get going - I just saw four more flashes in that building Pete was talking about. I think the toad just went for reinforcements.*_

"My friends, I think it would be best if we moved along as quickly as possible," said Piotr, watching the robed figures come out of the building.

"Hey, it's not our fault that you and Fuzzy elf stick out like a coupla really big and really blue sore thumbs, big brother," laughed Illyana, "Maybe you two shoulda been shorter an'... an'... less blue!"

"Not helping, 'Yana," said Kitty, making her way through the crowd as rapidly nonchalant as she could. "Rache, you got a fix on the 'Cauldron?"

"Second alley on the left. But based on the local's thoughts, we won't be able to get through without a wand."

Illyana cracked her knuckles, "Leave the magic to me." She paused, frowning, "D'ya think I should change my code name, Kitty? Magik is sooooo lame."

"_Really_ not helping, 'Yana." Kitty spoke, frustration with her friend evident. "I think I'll get us through the wall, thanks.

"Everyone hold hands!" Kitty ordered even as she picked up the pace. She felt the familiar comfort of Peter's larger hand enclose her right hand, and Kurt's three fingers grasped her left. Without looking back, she knew that Rachel had taken Nightcrawler's other hand and that Illyana had been scooped up by her brother.

"You there!" came a voice at the other end of the alley, "Stop, in the name of the Ministry!"

Ten feet from the wall, the group decided to make a break for it. Kitty focused on her phasing talent as she reached the bricks that marked the exit to the real - Muggle, she thought - world, grimacing as she pushed herself through the magic barrier.

Colossus felt Katya's fingers slip from his grasp a split second before hitting the wall, and barely managed to twist his body to shield his sister from the impact. Nightcrawler and Rachel were luckier - the German mutant's reflexes permitted him enough time to 'port himself and his passenger back a few paces in a burst of foul smelling brimstone and sulfur.

"What happened?" Kurt asked.

"Kitty lost contact - the wall must've disrupted her connection to us." Rachel answered, "You know, I really hate magic."

"Well, maybe Magik doesn't like you so much either!" Illyana said, her face flushed with seeming anger.

Rachel frowned. Illyana was for all practical purposes invisible to her telepathy, so she couldn't be sure how much of the comment was sarcasm and how much reflected the cold détente that existed between them. Seeing her grimace, the blond Russian girl gave a little laugh and stuck her tongue out.

Their pursuers were yelling to one another to beware. Kurt's teleport - and the resultant stench - had them wary, and they stood at the end of the alley, wands at the ready. A woman's voice called out, through the sleeve of her robe, "Stunners on my mark!"

"One! "

The X-men glanced at one another, and nodded. Kurt took their hands as Rachel's free hand grasped a ball of pure psionic force, while Peter prepared to armor up, hoping his organic steel would offer some degree of protection.

"Two!"

The bricks behind them suddenly began moving, grinding their way into the portal to London outside.

"Quick, before they escape, three! Stupefy!"

"PROTEGO MAXIMO!"

* * *

Looking up at the battlements, Peter's mind drifted off into a reverie, thinking of another castle, years ago, one without all this Muggle steel and lights. Wormtail, his master had called him. He recalled how he'd been given the name, when he'd first successfully managed the spell to become an Animagus and was able to shapeshift into the form of an animal. Only unlike his companions, who'd become a stag and large dog, he'd become a rat. Oh, how Sirius had tormented him over that, mocking the hairless tail. Even though he'd been able to do things in that smaller form that the others could not, such as deactivating the Whomping Willow and exploring the nooks and crannies of Hogwarts to discover secret passages to add to their map, even with all of that, he was still, always, _Wormtail_. He was insulted, belittled, treated as an errand boy. In return for the abuse, he was protected from other bullies, such as Snape's friends in Slytherin.

But James, Sirius and Remus could not protect him from Voldemort. The best and brightest they may have been, particularly when pretty Lily Evans had joined them, but they were just students. They weren't soldiers; it was foolish to pretend that they were, to believe that Dumbledore could really stand against the Dark Lord when so many others were falling. He'd joined the Order of the Phoenix, tagging along behind his "friends". But he'd known in his heart that it was a lost cause, and when Sirius had the idea for Peter to be the Secret Keeper, he knew that he finally had a bargaining chip with which he could make a deal to survive the war. And he kept telling himself that they only had themselves to blame.

As he made his way across the stone bridge, Peter wondered just how he was to signal the inhabitants to open the massive gate. It loomed in front of them, an impenetrable obstacle that no Alohamora spell could ever unlock. He cringed at the thought of standing there in front, the Muggle guards snickering at him from their positions. That would not go well with his Master, of course, who would then start killing every one of them. And it would serve them right, to laugh at Wizards like that. But while the Dark Lord seemed well-protected from death, poor Peter Pettigrew was not, and would certainly perish in the ensuing battle. He steeled himself and continued forward.

His fears were unfounded, for as they approached, the doors began to open of their own accord, revealing an attractive young woman in a grey business suit.

"Lord Voldemort, Master Pettigrew, my name is Miruna Eminescu. Please allow me to welcome you to Castle Doom. If you will allow me, I will escort you to our throne room for audience with our most benevolent leader, Dr. Victor von Doom."

Peter felt the Dark Lord tense at the mention of his name, and knew if he'd had his wand, the woman would be dead for her effrontery.

He followed the woman, listening absently as she spoke glowingly of her homeland and the magnificent works undertaken by its beloved leader. If she was in any way disturbed by the Dark Lord's appearance, there was no sign of it, nor any hint of the revulsion Pettigrew was so accustomed to from witches. She even smiled at him, and even if it were just out of courtesy he couldn't recall the last time that had happened. He regarded her as she pointed out a large canvas – unmoving, in the Muggle way – and he found himself hoping that she would not offend his Master again. To do so would result in her immediate demise in a sickening flash of green light - if she were fortunate. It would not be out of character for the Dark Lord to choose the Cruciatus Curse, to reduce her to gibbering insanity through repeated application of the torture spell.

She led them on, to a set of ornately carved and bejeweled double doors, guarded on each side by two gleaming suits of armor. She bowed before the center of the doors and announced herself, seemingly to no one at all. The doors opened, again as if by magic, and Peter wondered if this Muggle king were somehow more than he appeared. She beckoned for them to follow.

The hall they entered was enormous, with vaulted ceilings towering over them. Peter glanced around nervously, trying to keep from gawking. It was easily as large as the dining hall at Hogwarts, but whereas that room would always be filled with laughing children in his memory, this one was almost completely empty of people.

Except for him.

He was sitting on a throne on a raised dais at the far end of the room, clad in a green tunic and cloak over steel grey armor with riveted mask, and could only be the ruler of this place. And somehow, instead of being dwarfed by the room's immensity, his presence seemed to swell to fill its environs.

"My Lord," Ms. Eminescu said with a deep bow, "May I present your guests, Lord Vol-"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" The Dark Lord had managed to grasp his wand, and the young woman's body slumped to the floor, lifeless. Peter felt a pang, but had served his master for a long time and had known the inevitable result of the young woman's lack of deference.

Peter's eyes darted from the corpse to the figure on the throne. He also glanced around the room and noted that what he'd taken to be statues lining the walls seemed now to be more suits of armor, and the weapons they held did not look ceremonial.

The Muggle king's face was unreadable behind the mask. Then he spoke, a booming voice that filled the room. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, called 'Lord Voldemort' by those who dare. Peter Pettigrew, also known as 'Wormtail'. I bid you welcome to Latveria."

Again Peter felt his master tense with anger, at the sheer audacity of this man to use his forbidden Muggle name in light of what had happened to his servant. The armored men had moved to ready their weapons. He spoke, "We thank you for your hospitality, your Majesty." Thinking fast, he knew the longer they remained, the greater the chance that the Dark Lord would escalate the situation into one that would get him killed. "We know that your time is valuable, and we do not wish to intrude upon it."

"Indeed," the mask intoned. "I have summoned you here to examine this artifact a team of my archaeologists excavated from the southwest border." He pressed a button on the arm of his throne, causing a part of the floor to open with a whirr. From the opening rose a large stone cauldron on a platform, and it hummed with power that Peter felt from across the room. "I am well skilled in both magic and technology, but this eludes even my talents. My research indicates that it may come from your brand of Wizardry."

The Dark Lord's early rage had melted away, replaced with a sense of expectant glee.

"Yes," he hissed. "The Cauldron of Hecate. Long have I searched for this precious artifact. Wormtail, take me to it."

The man on the throne stood, "What is its aspect? Its power? Tell me!" His voice, like his master's, was one that was accustomed to being obeyed instantly.

"Ignore him, Wormtail, I must touch it, verify it is the one." More afraid of his master, the rat-faced man leapt forward, reaching forward with the pack containing the Dark Lord. The armored men leveled their Muggle weapons at him and he bent low.

"Enough!" shouted von Doom. "You have abused my hospitality, you have murdered my subjects. You will surrender now."

The creature in his arms whispered to Peter. "Turn me to face this Muggle king, Wormtail. I will give him my response."

Peter turned, slowly. The king was standing, his cloak billowing behind him. Even with his expressionless mask, his fury was palpable.

"Avada kedavra!" spoke the Dark Lord, and the jet of green hit the Muggle king directly in his chest.

He did not fall.

"Impossible!" cried his master. "No man can stop the Killing Curse!"

Peter, though, was moving, racing back to the cauldron. He formed the image of the forest in Albania in his mind, and lunged for the stone surface. "Portus!" he cried.

Dr. Doom watched the two vanish in a flash and scowled. He'd monitored the effects of the spell on his Doombot, and noted that it most certainly would have slain him, had he faced it. He'd hoped for more information, and had lost a valuable aide. He shrugged. The data would be analyzed, and he was certain he would master this new magic in time.

He was, after all, Victor von Doom.

* * *

The X-men dropped low into defensive crouches, clutching their heads against the sound.

The voice had to have been magically enhanced - it reverberated through all their skulls like standing next to the speakers at a rock concert. There was a dazzling display as red flashes impacted and rebounded off the shield protecting them. A wizard stood in the newly opened wall, his wand held loosely at his side in sharp contrast to the ferocity of the spell he'd just cast. Behind him, looking somewhat pale but offering a reassuring smile, was Kitty.

"Ah good, just in time I see. Forgive my interference in the pursuit of your duties as an Auror, my dear Atalanta, but I believe the Minister shall be glad to not have to deal with an International Incident, or, to be precise, yet another International Incident, with consideration of the happenings after yesterday's Quidditch World Cup."

"Professor Dumbledore," the lead Auror straightened her own robes, nonplussed, "we received a complaint about Muggles in Diagon Alley accompanied by an unknown Magical Creature of some sort. After yesterday's... happenings, we felt it our duty to respond as quickly as possible in case more Death Eaters had decided on an encore."

"And respond you have, and promptly too. Full marks, Auror Lilywhite, I'm quite sure Alastor would be proud of your vigilance." He smiled warmly, then continued, "Alas, this is one of those unfortunate misunderstandings. These Americans are guests of mine, so that I might have a chance to research their colleague's enchantment. A quite fascinating case, in fact, and one that I've been eager to delve into. When his Potions Master owled me, soliciting my advice, I was honored - we have such little communication with our American cousins, you know, that - "

"Professor - Professor!" Auror Lilywhite tried to get his attention. "Please, Professor Dumbledore, we don't need the details. May I take it that you are willing to vouch for these individuals, on your oath?"

Dumbledore looked a bit startled at her directness, then spoke clearly, "As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, yes, I will vouch for them. I have, indeed, taken the liberty of procuring them rooms in the Cauldron, so if you have no further questions, I'm sure they are fatigued from their travels and would like to get some rest."

"Then I will release them into your care." The auror said as she slipped her wand inside her robes.

The X-men watched the Aurors depart with a series of popping sounds

"Thank you, Professor," began a grateful Kitty, only to be silenced with a single raised finger.

"In good time, Miss Pryde," the elderly man said, "Right now it is best we retire to a less exposed arena. I find the morning insect population to be rather vexing."

With a sweep of his robes, he led them back through the opening in the wall at a brisk pace.

*_Hey Kitty!* _came Rachel's mindspeak, *_Was that some sort of joke? There's, what, three flies and a beetle around here? Am I missing some sort of invisible, magical mosquito or something?_*

Kitty pursed her lips, eyes narrowing in suspicion at a large beetle with two odd circles around its antennae. *_I have a suspicion that this Wizard isn't as White as he'd like us to believe. _

*_What do you mean?_*

*_Working on a theory, let you know when I got something concrete._*

The pair had to hurry to catch up with their teammates as they entered the door to the Leaky Cauldron. Dumbledore was talking quietly with Tom, the proprietor. The man nodded in agreement to whatever the Headmaster was saying, and jerked a thumb in the direction of the staircase. Dumbledore gathered his robes around him and headed in that direction, beckoning to them to follow him with a long, crooked finger.

He strode deliberately down the hallway and stopped before a door, tapping it with his wand. It opened obligingly, and he entered. Candles burst into life as they gathered inside.

"As I was saying, Professor," began Kitty, "It's such an honor to meet y-"

"Whoever you are," the old man interrupted, his voice quiet but with a sternness that surprised them, "I would ask you to remove yourselves from this place forthwith. Your presence is highly unwelcome."

"I'm sorry, Professor," said Kitty, "It was purely an accident - we were just coming to visit friends in London when we - "

"Intentionality notwithstanding," he interrupted her, "I find it most inauspicious for five mutants to intrude on this place at this particular moment - particularly mutants with foreknowledge of a world that we have taken great precautions to hide from those to which they are not connected. I hope you will allow me to satisfy my curiosity about the circumstances surrounding your arrival, after which it would behoove us all if you were to remove yourselves as quickly as possible."

"Great precautions," scoffed Rachel, "There's a laugh. Seven books and movies, you can't have a conversation without getting hit with a joke or reference to Harry Freaking Potter. You'd be more anonymous if you hired Donald Trump to put his next casino on the grounds of Hogwarts."

Kitty pursed her lips, "I don't know, Ray. There's something to refuge in audacity - assuming this isn't a parallel dimension, of course."

"I am sure I am missing out on a riveting and fascinating story," Dumbledore said, his eyes growing momentarily distant. He scratched his long nose absently, then continued, "But again, I must insist that you leave immediately, by whatever means brought you here."

"Oh, Al, don't be such a Dumblebore…" sniggered Illyana, "I'll get the troops out an' back to 'Merica lickesply… spitelky… in a flash."

"There is no way you're taking us anywhere, missy," scolded Kitty, "It's bad enough you drunk 'ported us here, there's no telling where we'd end up – or when."

"The girl's intoxication need not be a problem, particularly if it will get you out of my beard and back to your own world."

The professor snapped his fingers, and Illyana's eyes grew wide and her vague smile vanished. "Oh my god!" she cried, a blush rapidly overtaking her complexion. "I can't believe I did that! I'm so sorry!"

"Yes, very good," said Dumbledore, his tone insistent, "Now if you would be on your way."

"Right," answered the blond, clearly eager to remove herself from the embarrassment. "Everyone, gather around. It's time to go home."

Kitty started to say something to the wizard in front of her, but the scowl on his face made her bite her tongue. "Maybe some other day, when your war is over…" she muttered. "OK, 'Yana, make like Dorothy Gale and click your ruby slippers."

The glowing disc surrounded them all, and they vanished.

The aged wizard watched them disappear with a slight frown, stroking idly at his long beard. As with most mysteries, he was intensely curious about the five individuals who had just departed, but their presence at such a critical juncture might jeopardize everything for which he'd planned.

There was a tapping on the window. An owl, its round face peeking in through the pane, looked up at him expectantly. He sighed, opened the window and retrieved the message from the band on its leg. He fumbled in his robe for a treat for the bird, and sent it off.

He read the missive twice. It was a short letter from Madame Maxine, and it troubled him. He pulled a slender volume from his robe. The title - _Talecrafting: A Dissertation On the Application of the Thaumaturgick Power of Narrative Causality in a Multiversal Setting_ - took up the largest portion of the front cover, faded silver letters on a cloth binding. He paged through the book, eyes stopping at the frequent annotations made in the margins.

What he found – or rather, did not find – troubled him more. He let out a mild curse.

"Spit and hades!"

He looked up, as the voice and flash of light revealed that the youngsters had returned, and unless he mistook the situation, not entirely willingly. They all showed signs of recent violence, with the red headed girl glowing with power, and the taller man having somehow turned himself to metal.

"Sorry, Professor," began Illyana, "I don't know what happened. I teleport through the dimension of Limbo, but it-," she paused, worry plain on her face, "it was wrong. We were attacked…"

The blond girl was sheathed in silver armor and held a glowing sword, and all of them had formed a defensive circle.

"Well, that sucked," spoke the redhead, disgustedly. "Way to go, Illyana... remind me again why we rescued you from Limbo?"

The metal skinned man turned on her, his face contorted with anger, but the other man, the one covered with blue fur laid a hand on his arm, interceding. "That was unkind, Rachel."

Rachel flushed at his words, and stared determinedly at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

Dumbledore assessed the group calmly, his earlier irritation now absent from his face. "It appears that I may have been somewhat rash in my casual dismissal of you before, so I find it fortuitous that you have returned, for whatever reason."

He gripped a scroll in his hand, and went on, "It appears that I have great need of your assistance, and so I ask for it, most humbly."

"I'm not sure I understand, Professor," Kurt said, "'as it seems that you're asking us to interfere with the history of your people. This is against the laws of your people, _ja_?"

"I have received some disturbing information that leads me to believe that other people of a non-Wizarding persuasion are making their presence felt in our world. If I am reading the signs and portents correctly, these may be persons of Power, such as yourselves, and possibly ones that you are familiar with. For all our magic, I know that should war break out between Muggles and Wizards, it will go badly for us. It can only be worse if an alliance is formed between Dark Wizards and some of your adversaries."

Kurt thought on it, "But for us to become involved might change the way certain… destinies unfold. Wouldn't it be better if we were to just try to eliminate those villains that would normally fall under our purview?"

"I don't know that Dumbledore here is all that concerned with preserving the timeline, fuzzy elf," Illyana said. "Wasn't it last year - for him, anyway - that you had Hermione and Harry save Sirius?"

"Stable time loop," commented Kitty, absently. "Nothing in the book to indicate Buckbeak was truly killed, Harry saw himself cast the Patronus... I guess our intervention could be the same, if we stayed behind the scenes. If we can avoid contradicting the text as written, then we might be able to pull it off."

"But that means-"

"I know, Illyana, I don't like it either, but preventing his death definitely alters the timeline..."

Rachel cut in, "You say that like it's a bad thing..."

"Isn't it? If things are supposed to happen, won't we screw up the future by blundering about?" Kitty chose her words carefully, "The events at the end of the school year are critical for the story to play out correctly…"

Dumbledore spoke, quietly, "I don't expect that bickering amongst ourselves will reach any sort of satisfactory resolution to our mutual problems. If we might concentrate more fully on the problem at hand…"

"Seriously, Professor?" Kitty asked, "I'm a huge fan, but I think this is extremely important. We know how your story goes. We've read it – some of us, anyway – and we've seen the movies. Maybe you don't think that's a big deal, but I do."

He looked at her, his eyes glazing over. "I do not."

"But how can you say that?"

Rachel was staring intently at Dumbledore. "Kitty," she said, "He didn't hear a word you just said."

"What?" Kitty said in disbelief.


	3. A Past So Bright, A Future So Dark

Chapter 3  
A Past So Bright, A Future So Dark

all these lines keep changing  
(we stay the same)  
stumbling through life's pages  
(and we can)  
write them as we go  
-"Follow", Enter the Haggis

"How can Dumbledore not hear me? I know he isn't deaf," Kitty said. "I'm pretty sure I'm not following you."

"That makes two of us – or rather, I'm following, but I'm not entirely sure that I believe what I'm sensing. He hears the words we say, but it seems that if it has anything at all to do with the Harry Potter books or movies, it just… vanishes. It isn't connecting to anything in his head."

"That makes no sense, Rachel. I mean, wouldn't he wonder why he's dozing off in the middle of a conversation. By all accounts, he's supposed to be a rather astute sort of guy."

"I don't know, Kitty. Just as I have no idea how you would accomplish such a thing. Emma taught me some basic psychic interdiction practices that are similar, but nothing that's so subtle or so complete."

Kitty turned to Illyana, "Could you do something like this with magic?"

"I couldn't, that's for sure," she replied, "But my grounding in mind magic is limited at best. And this is probably Harry Potter magic – a totally different animal. I don't know if it even has rules other than flicking your wand and mumbling in pseudo-Latin."

Kitty frowned, then looked at Dumbledore, choosing her words. "Professor, do you know of a spell that would prevent someone from remembering something as it is being said? I mean, sort of an ongoing self-perpetuating memory charm? And to apply it to all aspects of a given topic?"

The wizard considered this, "I do not believe I have ever encountered such a spell, no. An enchantment might be crafted, but the knowledge and effort would be tremendous." He turned to Rachel, "I would appreciate it greatly if you would ask me before peering inside my mind, young lady."

"Sorry," Rachel replied in a tone that didn't express much regret, "I was just irritated that you were brushing off some rather pertinent information about the world of Harry Potter. I guess an eldritch mind whammy would explain that, though."

Again, his eyes glazed slightly. "Quite. And if we could get back to business?"

Rachel shot a look at Kitty. The chestnut haired woman looked at her friend as if contemplating something, before saying aloud. "It couldn't hurt to ask, but it could be dangerous."

"Ha, I love living on the edge."

"Professor Dumbledore, if you don't mind, we'd like to try an experiment. Ray would like to see if she could force the memories of what we're saying into your head."

"An interesting idea, as the concept of a memory erasure spell does intrigue me." He pulled out a small book and flipped through it as he considered it. "I suppose I have no real objections to this line of inquiry."

"Great," Kitty said. "Ray, you'll probably want to hook the link through me. I don't think you've got as solid a background in the stories."

"Yeah, that's fair. Give me a sec, this isn't going to be easy." The telepath steadied her breath, focusing on the task at hand. "O.K., here we go."

Rachel's eyes began to glow in the room's dim light. Simultaneously, the faces of Kitty and Professor Dumbledore became blank, drained of emotion. "I'm laying the groundwork right now, guys. Taking Kitty's memories of the books and implanting them into Dumbles here. I'm making a one way, constant connection that will feed the thoughts directly into his cortex faster than the whammy can delete them." Her brow furrowed with the effort. "There, he's got a background to the story. Talk quickly – I don't know how long I can keep this up."

Kurt took the opportunity, "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes?" the wizard answered, "I must say I am astounded by all of this. That this woman – this J. K. Rowling – actually wrote our story down, before we have even lived it."

"A story, certainly, and one that matches almost exactly to yours," Kitty said, "But set earlier, from what I can tell. Harry was born in 1980 in the book."

"And a decade later here."

"That's it!" said Illyana, excitedly. "I must have moved us back in time when I 'ported us – it's 2004 here."

"Eight years." Kurt said, stunned.

"We were watching 'The Goblet of Fire'," Piotr noted, "Perhaps your subconscious drew us to that point in time?"

"I guess that makes sense," Illyana agreed. "It would explain why your cel didn't work, the tech isn't compatible."

"Guys," Rachel complained, "We don't… have time for tangents here."

"Right," agreed Kurt, "Professor, who would have cast the memory spell?"

Dumbledore coughed, "My best estimation is that it would be me.:

"You?" Kitty was incredulous.

"Of living wizards, only I – and perhaps Tom Riddle – would have had the knowledge and strength to pull it off. If things are, as they appear to be, passing as they have in these books, I would exclude Tom as a suspect – he would have acted by now to stop things from continuing as they have. He's been thwarted twice now, and any failure would be unacceptable to him. But if I had discovered this, yes, I think I might take measures to allow Ms. Rowling to write her novels and to keep them from interfering with the natural progression of events."

"Including yourself in the spell?" asked Kitty.

"Of course. Knowing myself, I would be as tempted as Tom to use any potential foreknowledge to my advantage. I would not trust myself with that degree of power; too many unanticipated and unwelcome consequences would come of it. Better to remain ignorant of the future, and to make one's decisions as best that one can."

"But now," Kurt asked, "You've changed your mind and want us to stay?"

"Yes, something has come up. I have had occasion to meet with your mentor, Professor Xavier, in the past. He was kind enough to provide some specifics on how to insulate my world from yours, measures that seem to have failed."

He coughed, holding up the letter he'd received, "As you are aware through those remarkably predictive tomes, we will be holding the Tri-Wizard Tournament this year at Hogwarts. Madame Maxine has just owled me an additional candidate for her school, Beauxbatons, one that I believe is from your world, not mine. And something that I suspect will require your assistance in thwarting, else all goes awry."

"How... would you know…?" asked Rachel, the strain of maintaining the link showing on her face.

"That is unimportant, I hope. Every wizard must maintain some secrets. Even from himself."

"What's the candidate's name? Not Fleur Delacour, I assume?" Kitty asked.

"Ah, no. Mademoiselle Delacour is still attending, and is clearly meant to be the Goblet's choice. But Madame Maxine talks of her 'star pupil', one who she has not spoken of before, being the obvious favorite and offering a little side wager on the outcome. That student's name is Aescwine Natan."

"Wow, someone's not even trying." Kitty remarked.

"I do not think I follow," said her fiancé, confused.

"Good old St. Searle's" she answered, referring to the school she'd attended briefly during their Excalibur days by way of explanation. "History of England and all that. Aescwine was the name of the first king of Essex. And Natan..."

"…Is one of the forms of Nathaniel," Kurt continued, catching her thought.

"Sinister." Piotr growled, growing tense.

"Sinister," Kurt agreed. "Now what was he up to eight years ago?"

Kitty shook her head, "I don't know that it really matters, not for our purposes. We can investigate later, but Mr. Sinister's the sort to have lots of irons in the fire at once. And stopping this one seems to be the least we can do."

"Perhaps," said the blue-furred mutant, "But how? I dare say that we won't blend in very well at the school. Illyana is of an appropriate age to hide in the student body, but the rest of us would stand out. And none of us are wizards, at least of your sort, Professor Dumbledore."

"A thought occurs, if you are willing – "

"Guys…" Rachel grimaced.

Kitty looked at her friend's face, realizing the strain she was under, "I hope you'll still remember this plan after the link is broken, Professor – let it go, Ray."

Dumbledore's eyes went hazy.

"Please tell me that we didn't just waste all that."

The wizard looked sharply over at the young woman, blinking a few times before peering intently.

The red-head shook her head, "Crap."

"No, your effort was not in vain," Dumbledore spoke, "But I find I have several holes in my memory from the last few minutes, and I am focusing on those things that I do remember. As I believe I was saying, a thought occurred to me. If we were to enchant you – some of you, that is – we would be able to insinuate you into the student body-"

"Wait, enchant us?" Kitty asked, incredulously, "I'm sorry, but that's a bit extreme, isn't it? I would love to visit Hogwarts, but it seems like it would make more sense to just thwart 'Aescwine' from the outside. Or perhaps you could sneak us in as observers?"

"Ah, I thought I might have made a cognitive leap too far. I've become accustomed – too much so, perhaps – in having people taking me at my word. " He pulled at his long beard, "There is little, I fear, that you can do from outside the school grounds. As we have already seen, you will be immediately marked as outsiders and treated with suspicion, at best. More likely that would result in Atalanta and her compatriots detaining you for another chat. "

He put his hands behind his back and took a couple steps. "And I fear that our good Minister of Magic and I are… not as close as I would hope, and that he does not accept my recommendations on staff selection. Neither Cornelius Fudge nor Bartemius Crouch will allow placement of five additional individuals."

"So we get Illyana in as… what, a transfer student?" Kurt asked. "Can you teach her to mimic your spells? At least long enough to scuttle Sinister's plans?"

"I think between the two of us, that may be arranged. If nothing else, I will need her assistance to ensure Alastor's eyepiece does not expose us."

"OK, sounds like a plan, I guess." Kitty said with a sigh.

"You sound troubled, Katya."

"Not troubled, just… disappointed. I mean, we're in Harry Potter, and we don't get to see anything more than the nickel tour of Diagon Alley? While your sister gets to meet Harry and Hermione and all the rest? It just seems a little unfair."

"I'm afraid I have to veto this proposal," said Kurt, his voice deepening as he assumed the role of leader. "We're making some big assumptions here – that Sinister didn't succeed eight years ago in our world. And that this is our world and not some alternate dimension." Kurt spoke pensively, "And we cannot discount either of those."

"I would urge you to reconsider," said Dumbledore quietly. "I can assure you that the forces moving against my world, this 'Sinister' of which you speak, are not meant to be. I do not know that I will be able to counteract all the forces that will be arrayed against me."

"I respect that, Professor, but my first and foremost duty is to…"

"Wow, Kurt, you should just turn in your tights and superhero badge right now."

"Perhaps, Kitty," he admitted, "And perhaps I am letting the prejudice shown me in Diagon Alley color my perceptions. I do think that our first priority must be to secure a way home, and Illyana is they key to that."

"OK, fine, I take you guys home, then I come back and save Hogwarts," Illyana said triumphantly.

"But we were attacked when we tried to teleport last time," her brother pointed out with concern.

"It's OK, Peter, really. I just wasn't ready for Limbo last time, and since I'm not entirely the same person I used to be eight years ago, what with getting all my soul back and such, it didn't recognize me. Hence the welcome wagon."

"I do not like-," Kurt began to argue.

"My life. My choice. I've got years of catching up to do, to make up for being disembodied for a while. And spending a year in the past might help that out. I can learn all new things, and then appear literally a second after I drop you off."

"She deserves this chance, my friend," said Piotr. "And Professor Dumbledore deserves whatever aid we can provide. I… trust my sister to do her best."

Illyana caught her brother in a tight embrace. "Thank you."

Mumbling to himself in German, Kurt shook his head. "All right. We will do it that way. I… pray that you are right, Illyana. I do not wish to lose you again."

"I'll be good, promise!" she smiled. "Be back in a jiff, Professor!"

With another flash, they were gone.

* * *

They appeared on Charing Cross Road, across from a local bookshop and a sandwich shop.

"'Bookends'," noted Kitty. "Illyana, we're still in London, not far from where the Cauldron would be."

"I was taking two jumps – time, then distance," her friend replied, "I thought it would make it more precise."

"Fine," said Rachel, "Let's make with the distance. This place gives me the creeps."

"Me, as well," said Piotr, looking in the bookshop's window. "Katya, I think something is amiss – these titles, they do not make sense."

She walked over to where he stood, reading. _A Muggle's Place – How to Serve your Betters. The Dark Lord Rises – A History of 21__st__ Century Britain. The Egegious Life and Inglorious Death of Albus Dumbledore. _ "Yes, something is definitely amiss. Illyana, are you certain we're in our proper timeline?"

"Reasonably," she answered, looking at a newspaper box. "Except that the _Prophet_ is in these things – and they apparently take Sickles and Knuts for change."

Popping sounds came from further down the road. "You Muggles are in violation of curfew!" one dark robed individual announced. Stand there and await punishment."

"Yeah, we'll get right on that," sneered Rachel.

The person addressing them, voice muffled behind a mask but probably female, pulled out a stick from inside the cloak with practiced ease. Her companions did the same. "Take them," she growled.

"Now!" cried Nightcrawler, vanishing in a puff of smoke. Colossus armored up, intercepting the first few beams of red light that came in. He grunted, driven to one knee. Kitty had one go through her phased form as she darted towards them, and Illyana manifested her new Soulsword and gleaming eldritch armor.

"You shouldn't play with sticks," said Marvel Girl, "You might poke your eye out." She reached out and plucked three wands away from their owners' hands with practiced telekinetic ease.

"Essexians!" cried one of the hooded figures. "Switch to neutralizers! _Potesta Abstula!_"

The purple beam scythed across the ground, hitting Marvel Girl. The wands she held clattered to the street as they fell, and her eyes went wide.

"We'll have none of that," said Nightcrawler, delivering a kick to the jaw of the person who'd just zapped his teammate. Three more quick jaunts and the three more of their opponents went down. He turned to see Shadowcat take out another with a quick disarm and hip toss, followed by a knife hand strike to the carotid artery, a measured attack designed to stun her victim.

Magik stood over the last one, her sword buried inside the body. "Sometimes I wish this was a real sword. But it's good to know that it seems to neutralize you as well as other magic-users."

"Rachel- are you ok?" Kurt asked hesitantly.

"My powers. They're… gone." Her face was drained of color, but her jaw was set. She stalked over to the man impaled on the Soulsword and grabbed him by his head. "What did you do to me?"

"I'll tell you nothing, Essexian."

Her hand flashed across his jaw. "Fix it."

"Never!"

Kitty ran to her side, laying a hand on her shoulder. "It was a spell. It's probably temporary – or Dumbledore can find the countercurse."

Marvel Girl glared at her, fury in her eyes, but eventually released her grip on the man. "OK. Fine. Illyana, get us the hell out of here."

* * *

"Ah, you've come back. All of you," noted Dumbledore as the teleportation circle appeared in the room.

"Yeah," said Kitty, "but we need your help – Rachel got zapped by some sort of spell – it took her powers."

The professor got up from the desk where he'd been sitting, and strode over to examine the red headed girl. "Interesting. Just a minor binding, I think." He took out his wand and intoned, "_Finite Incantatem_."

The change in Rachel was immediate. Her eyes blazed, and small objects around the room began to rise. *_We're good* _she sent as a general broadcast. *_Thanks, Professor._*

He shook his head, unaccustomed to telepathic communication of that sort. "Quite. Now I presume that you have had a change of heart?"

"You can presume that, yeah," said Kitty. "It was a bad fut-."

"Hold that thought!" exclaimed Illyana, who was peering closely at a beetle at the window. She drew the heavy curtains closed, "Time for a change of venue!"

Once again teleportation circles surrounded them, this time including the Hogwarts Headmaster.

* * *

"Pardon, Madame Maxine," the young woman spoke in French, "There is a matter we have to address. One of our security detail has been missing for several weeks. If Monsieur Nihous has been compromised – not that we expect one of the brightest stars of the Ministère de la Magie to be so easily turned – but if this were to happen, then we cannot guarantee the safety of your students while they are in Britain."

"I appreciate you concern, Mademoiselle, but I have ever faith in Albus to be the perfect host. He will protect my children, even as I would. Our carriage is ensorcelled with the finest charms and wards. I do hope you find poor Phillipe, however. I was quite fond of him during his stay here at Beauxbatons, and he showed much promise."

"As you say, Madame. I am of course obliged to urge you to reconsider, to ask for a delay." The security officer gave a resigned look, "But I surmise that you have made your decision. Tell me, is he as good as the rumors?"

"Better, my dear Dominique," the headmistress smiled, "He is quite simply the best student I have ever taught. I cannot wait to show him off to Professor Dumbledore."

"And the Cup?"

"It will be ours, my dear. Finally, after all this time, Beauxbatons will show her true colors!"

* * *

"Snowflake, I am unsure of this," Piotr said, nervously looking around.

"Listen, Piotr Nikoleivitch, this is my home, sort of. I just had to create a little haven for us to work, kinda like what Ororo did – that is, my teacher Ororo not Storm Ororo back on Earth."

"You are babbling."

"I am not – well, maybe a little. I'm kinda excited, Peter, aren't you? Now we all have a chance to go back to school and have fun, and it's Harry Potter, to boot!" The blonde sorceress took a moment to compose herself, "We have to stop Mr. Sinister and Voldemort and save the future, right? And this is the best way." She took Dumbledore by the arm and led him a few yards away from the rest of them.

"So, what do you think your sister is going on about, Petey?"

"I don't know, Rachel, she is… up to something."

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," Rachel said, eyes rolling, "It's not like we'll be of much use here, the old magician pointed that out. Only Illyana will be able to infiltrate the school, so we're stuck hanging out waiting for her to hopefully stop Sinister. I'm not opposed to a vacation as such, but, well, I'd rather be doing something, y'know?"

"I agree," said Kurt, "And we dare not make ourselves known, lest we cause unwelcome ripples to the timestream. If memory serves, our past selves will have recently returned from the Cross Time Caper. I don't remember running into ourselves, well, not older, normal version of ourselves, not some of our cross-time duplicates."

"God," Kitty frowned as she rubbed the bridge of her nose, "Trying to keep track of the history of the X-men always gives me a headache. Back in 2004- that was after that whole Inferno thing, right?"

"_Da_, and after the so-called 'Blue' and 'Gold' teams," said her fiancé. "But before my sister... died." He looked over at Illyana with his emotions flickering across his face. "It is too bad we cannot save her, that is, the little girl version of her."

"Why can't we?" asked Rachel. "We've got the knowledge - well, Kitty does. I know you read Hank's notes on the Legacy cure. I can transfer the knowledge to this Beast, and we can stop the Virus years ahead of time."

"We can't just... change things like that." Kitty said, regretfully.

"Why not? Think about it - we can stop Onslaught before it happens. Stop M-Day. Stop Stamford. Stop the whole damn Skrull Invasion and Norman Frickin' Osborne. We can save so many lives - Banshee, my granddad and my mom's whole family, the kids on the bus. _Your dad. My mom._ Think about it."

"I am, and it's so very tempting." Kitty shook her head sadly, biting her lip and blinking back tears as she considered the possibilities. "But we wouldn't be saving them – not really, not the people we know and love. We'd just be spinning off another timeline."

Rachel sniped back, "And what's wrong with that? You do remember where I came from, right?" She was from a future, hopefully not _the_ future, but a dystopia where Sentinels had imprisoned most mutants in concentration camps, and where she herself had been tortured into hunting down her own kind. A risky ploy had sent the spirit of an adult Katherine Pryde-Rasputin back to foil an assassination attempt, and then to send Rachel herself bodily to the new timeline.

"Please, Rachel," Kurt interceded, "We would also run the risk of destabilizing the timeline, to be purged by Roma or Saturnyne. Though I can see why Professor Dumbledore would have to restrain himself, if he had any inkling of how the _Harry Potter_ story would play out years in advance."

"Sinister was not in the movies," Peter said, his voice deadly quiet. "Nor do I expect to find him in the books, either. So the timeline has been changed, from what the author put down anyway."

"That's assuming that things played out exactly the same way in this world as it did in the books, which is unlikely," Kitty commented, "First, we're ten years later, and second, there are no other mentions of people of power. J.K. Rowling was on record that if it came down to a Muggle with a shotgun and a wizard with a wand, the Muggle would win. And let's face it, that 'bad future' we ended up in is very similar to other times Illyana's been tossed into the future, "

"Don't remind me!" laughed Illyana, returning with Professor Dumbledore. "All righty, boys and girls, here's the deal. Me and Professor D here have come up with a spell that will let us all go to Hogwarts and kick Mr. Sinister's funky butt all the way back to the 19th century."

"Ahem, I do not remember any additional time travel requirements for our endeavour," said the wizard, "Although I imagine that may have been a Muggle colloquialism. It is so hard to keep up with the latest idioms sometimes."

She gave him an impish grin, and turned to her fellow X-men. "So… we realized that working our magic together, we can transmogrify you all into teenage bodies. He has a way to add Hogwarts caliber magic into the mix so you can cast spells, and my de-aging spell will be immune to Moody's mad eye or other of their detection charms. Rachel can mind-teach us the spells we need from Dumbledore's mind so we can act the part. Once we stop Sinister, I'll swipe my Soulsword through you, break the spells, and off we go back to our future. So, what do you think? Isn't it just what you wanted, Kitty?"

"Well, yes," her friend said hesitantly, "but I don't know if it's what we all-" she looked pointedly at Rachel, "-wanted. But are you sure you can do this safely? It seems a little risky to transform all five of us."

"Well, three of us," Illyana said, "I'll be fine as I am, and we can't zap the fuzzy elf. I mean, I could de-age him, but he'd still be blue and furry and his image inducer wouldn't work at Hogwarts, even if we had one. Oh, hold on one sec!" She popped into a teleportation circle, returning a moment later. "Here you go, Kurt!" She tossed him a small device.

"_Was?_" he said, catching it. "Where did you get this?"

"From the mansion, silly. There were a whole bunch of them there, and since you're here in England right now, I figured no one would miss one. Now you can go around and investigate stuff on the outside, in case Monsieur Natan is just a pawn of Sinister and he's out there seeking to capitalize on things from the outside. And, y'know, maybe take a long vacation, catch up on your reading. "

"I don't think I need that much vacation, should your time be protracted," Kurt said, frowning.

"If I may be so bold,' Professor Dumbledore said, "I may have some ideas on ways to occupy your time."

Kurt's displeasure was evident; he didn't particularly like being relegated to the background. He said, his voice diplomatic, "I will see what I can do."

"Wait, are we seriously considering this?" asked Rachel. "And why do I have to go? Why can't I spend time with Kurt. You know, helping him with the investigation."

"Four of us," answered Illyana, "Four houses. Seemed to make the most sense."

"To you, maybe. I don't want you to whammy me back to my teenage years. I'm not exactly burgeoning with positive memories here. And I certainly don't want to go back to school with a bunch of giggling girls, and boys still learning about the benefits of daily hygiene." She crossed her arms, her look determined.

"I do not like the idea much," agreed Piotr, "As I will be much out of my element. But it does appear that we are needed here. Our enemy is attacking their world, and if I can help, I will submit myself to this spell."

"Thank you, Mr. Rasputin," the old wizard said, gravely. "Do the rest of you concur?"

"You know I'm in," Illyana giggled, "Since it's my idea and all."

Kitty looked torn. "It almost seems like we're being pushed to this decision by something. But I can't say that the opportunity isn't attractive to me. And Sinister's one of our problems. So long as we can get back to our time at the end of this, yeah, I'm definitely in. Rachel?"

"I don't want to."

"I know, Ray, but we need you. Your telepathy will be invaluable." Kitty said, "And… I'd miss you, y'know. This is a great chance to spend some time with three of my best friends – sorry Kurt, wish you could come too."

Rachel looked at her best friend's earnest expression, and felt herself cave. "Fine. Fine! I'll go to magic school with you. But once we stop Sinister, we're out of there, right?"

"Right."

"Yay!" squealed Illyana, making both Rachel and Dumbledore wince with her enthusiasm. "Peter, you're first. I'm gonna have to knock you back to when you first joined the X-men, about ten years. It'll probably easier to just do that for everyone."

"Don't you think about it, blondie," Kitty said, "Things were bad enough with our ages when we were younger. I am not going to have my fiancé be off limits again. You can make me the same age as your brother."

"Ok, fine, be that way," she grinned. "Thought I could spare myself some PDAs and help you to stay focused on our mission, but I guess I can be nice. Consider it your wedding present, though."

"You wish!"

Illyana laughed. "Well, Professor, shall we begin?"

"Certainly," he answered, "The sooner, the better, as I have quite a bit of maneuvering to do when we finish to make our masquerade believable."

"Then bring on the hocus, I'll bring the pocus, and let's make some magic."

* * *

A/N – the characters are owned by J.K. Rowling and Marvel Comics, I'm just playing in their worlds. Thanks to the Harry Potter wiki for quick reference, as well as the source material.

to paili-chan: good catch – I didn't mean for the Aurors to call them muggles, that was from an earlier draft. The idea was that Umbridge didn't buy that Nightcrawler was a prank gone awry, and her speciesism would have her send out the Aurors.


	4. Back To School

Chapter Four  
Back To School

A quality of justice, a quantity of light  
A particle of mercy makes the color of right.  
Gravity and distance change the passage of light  
Gravity and distance change the color of right.  
-Rush, "The Color of Right"

It was storming outside, but inside the halls of Hogwarts, and under a mask of calm composure, Kitty and Illyana were beside themselves with excitement. Piotr looked on, uncomfortable in the school uniform and robe, and this teenaged body. He felt gangly, ill at ease, weaker than he liked. His sister had put him in the body he'd had when he had saved her from a tractor in the Ust-Ordynski Collective, the same day Professor Xavier had convinced him to join the X-men. It was an inexperienced body, untempered by the experiences he'd gone through.

"Heya, big guy," Kitty said, speaking softly in the wide hallway, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he answered. "No, that is not true. I feel uncomfortable. Vulnerable. I have been practicing – but things do not seem to come so easily." They'd spent some time after their respective transformations trying to familiarize themselves the spells Professor Dumbledore had allowed Rachel to share with them. He'd chosen a solid range of charms and transfigurations, given them the benefit of his vast knowledge of Potions, Magical Creatures and Herbology, as well as the basics of Arithmancy, Divination, and Ancient Runes. His knowledge of American Magical History was limited, but his library had produced a few volumes that Kitty was able to finish quickly and sum up while the Headmaster worked on their cover story as exchange students.

"Well, hang in there," she whispered, leaning in close. "We'll find a place to practice more, but the students should be getting here any second."

As she spoke, the doors to the Entrance Hall burst open and a herd of sopping wet, bedraggled children hurried in. Their quest for shelter, however, was denied by a hail of water balloons thrown by the poltergeist, Peeves.

Rachel watched the bombardment with an amused look on her face until one came flying in their direction. Her hand flew up and caught it telekinetically, and then reached out and caught the others falling on the students. All eyes turned to her.

"Ray!" whispered Kitty fiercely. "Wand!"

Her eyes flashed, and her hand was suddenly holding the illusion of the wand she'd been given. She flicked her hand and all the balloons flew back at the mischievous spirit, where they exploded when she made a stabbing motion. She followed that with a twist of her wrist, causing the water to form a globe around Peeves.

"Glacius!" called out Kitty, brandishing her own wand. The water froze into a large sphere of ice, causing the poltergeist to stop his taunts and stare incredulously at them. He wasn't trapped by any means, passing through the icy shell easily, but he did move off, grumbling, in search of other mischief.

"Miss Grey, Miss Pryde!" came a stern voice from behind them.

They turned around quickly, startled by the tone. "Yes, Professor McGonagall?" asked Kitty.

The stern face looked down at them, her green eyes glaring through her spectacles. "Explain yourselves. You are guests in this castle, and you are rewarding our hospitality by… showing off?"

Minerva McGonagall, deputy Headmistress, had not been pleased when informed of her Headmaster's scheme. They hadn't dared repeat the trick of holding their knowledge of J.K. Rowling's works for her; the strain had been great on the more mature body of an older Rachel, and the Transfiguration Professor was not known for the same curiosity and openness that Professor Dumbledore had.

"What, were we supposed to just let that thing drench us?" Rachel demanded hotly.

"This is a school, Miss Grey. Not one of your 'adventures'," the older woman said, distastefully. "I have enough of that with Mr. Potter and his friends. I will not have this school treated as a playground." Under her breath, so that the other students would not hear, she added, "And using your Muggle abilities risks exposing yourselves."

"We're sorry, Professor," Kitty said, giving her friend a nudge.

"OK, fine, I'm sorry too." Rachel said, "But me and that ghost are going to have trouble, I'm sure of it."

"Peeves' actions will not go unremarked. I would recommend that you not get into a feud with him. It will not go well for you." With that, she repositioned her pointed hat, and straightened her robes. "Please remain here until after the first years have been brought in and sorted. Professor Dumbledore will summon you then."

"Thank you," said Piotr, moving in between the deputy Headmistress and the still fuming Marvel Girl.

McGonagall walked away briskly, her carriage erect. She stopped briefly to chat with a bushy haired girl of about fourteen, who was flanked by two boys, who were just as recognizable.

"Wow," said Kitty, with a slight nod in their direction, her eyes widening. "Wow… there they are. Harry, Hermione and Ron. The Golden Trio."

"Not quite Radcliffe, Watson and Grint, are they?" Illyana commented, "But pretty darn close. I guess this means Snape isn't going to look like Alan Rickman." Her disappointment was evident.

They watched as the three protagonists of book and film headed off to the Great Hall, standing there in silence, reflecting on the whole surrealism of it.

"All told, that could have gone better," admitted Kitty after a while, "With McGonagall, I mean."

"Seems to be a bit of a recurring theme," said Illyana, "If I remember, didn't she slip on the water from the balloons in the book?"

"I… think so," answered her friend. She frowned. "Yes. I'd almost forgotten that."

"Great, I save her, and I still get yelled at," Rachel grimaced. "This just gets better and better."

"You know," Illyana chimed in, "I bet I can hurt ol' Peeves with my Soulsword."

"I wouldn't," Kitty said, "I think they need him next year, when Umbridge takes over."

The doors burst open again, and a herd of little ones, all around eleven years old, came piling in behind the massive form of Hagrid. The four X-men moved casually to the other side of the grand staircase.

"I hope Kurt's having as much fun as we are," Rachel grumbled, mostly to herself, watching Kitty and Illyana giggle over the tiny form of Dennis Creevey, who had fallen in the lake.

* * *

Kurt Wagner was not, in fact, having much fun. The jump back in time had robbed him of most of his resources, so he found himself doing a lot of legwork. He'd had to get money from Professor Dumbledore, as neither his bank nor credit cards were accepted, with expiration dates too far in the future. He also was worried about anything that might call attention to himself. The younger him was running around – at Braddock Manor, if he had the timing right. Not too long ago had been the confrontation between Rachel, fully imbued with the power of the Phoenix, and Necrom. Depending on the timing, Professor Xavier might even be present, trying to pull Rachel from the comatose state she'd been left in as a result of that battle.

He rubbed his eyes, blinking against the sun that was peeking through the clouds. He'd been trying to find a paper trail for Aescwine Natan, but nothing had come up. Granted, the state of computing in 2004 was not what it would be in just a few years, with many records not yet available online, but even still he'd hoped to find something of Sinister's fingerprints to show for his effort.

He looked at his watch. He was to meet an agent of Dumbledore's at a café around here. A disheveled man – in his mid thirties, perhaps, with his brown hair going prematurely grey in places – approached him. "Mr. Wagner?" the man asked, uncertainly.

"The one and the same," he said, offering his hand.

The man nodded, and took Kurt's hand in his and shook it. His eyes widened as he detected that it was not a five fingered hand, the physical touch piercing the illusion generated by the image inducer the mutant wore. "My name," he said hesitantly, looking about them, "is Remus Lupin."

* * *

Professor McGonagall had slipped back into the entrance hall, taking charge of the first years from Hagrid, who wandered over to the X-men.

"Why, hello ther'," he greeted them.

"Hi Hagrid!" Illyana said cheerfully.

The groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures instructor seemed to brighten at being recognized. "Heard of me, have yeh?"

Piotr nodded his head, unaccustomed at looking upwards. "Good evening. Professor Dumbledore filled us in about the staff. He said you were a man of great heart."

"Tha' Dumbledore, he's a great man, he is." He was blushing behind his great bristly beard. "Yeh're a tall one yerself, aren't yeh?"

"I had thought so. I have not felt so small since I was not yet a teen, getting a view of Lake Baikal."

"So yer from the States, eh? Pretty excitin' time t' be coming t' Hogwarts now. Great things are comin'. Funny tha', t' be honest. We've never ha' anyone from there before. But Professor Dumbledore say yeh all are th' future, tha' we can' keep hidin' ourselv's from each othe'."

"It is a commendable thought," the Russian said, carefully.

"So, if yeh don' mind meh askin', wha' sort of creatures have yeh studied so far? Maybe when yeh come to my class yeh can talk about some of the diff'rences."

"We'd be delighted," said Kitty, coming to her fiancé's rescue.

A tiny piece of paper slid underneath the doors to the main hall. At first it looked like it was being tossed by a breeze, but it suddenly began to fold itself, origami-like, into a swan that flew toward the four. It was hard not to be amazed by the deftness of the magic involved.

Hagrid reached out his large fist and grabbed it. He gave it a little shake, and it unfolded back into a piece of paper. His eyes scanned it, his lips moving silently as he read. "Looks like they're ready fo' yeh." He handed it to Kitty.

"Thanks!" she said, "The question is – are we ready?"

"Let's just get it over with," sighed Rachel, unenthusiastically.

They reached the double doors to the Great Hall and opened them quietly, slipping in to hear "Whitby, Kevin!" being announced by Professor McGonagall. They watched the Sorting Hat being placed on his head, and the subsequent announcement that he would be joining Hufflepuff House

Then Dumbledore stood, resplendent in his robes of forest green, adorned with sigils and signs the import they knew not. His voice boomed throughout the hall, "Before we enjoy our opening meal, we have one more favor to ask of our Sorting Hat this year."

There was a loud groan from a red-headed boy at the Gryffindor table.

"I dare say you will not starve, Mr. Weasley, as much as you might think you may," the Headmaster admonished the student with a twinkle in his eye. He continued, "I have long felt that our society has become too insular, that we keep ourselves apart, even from our fellow wizards around the world, with only events such as the Quidditch World Cup to bring us together. I have, then, undertaken some effort to alleviate our isolationism. One piece will be revealed later, but first, I would like you all to welcome the first ever exchange students at Hogwarts."

The whole all turned to look at them. Many were talking in excited whispers about the workings Rachel and Kitty had pulled on Peeves. Others were clearly sizing them up – as rivals, as potential friends – or more, based on some of the more appreciative stares. Dumbledore waited for the excitement to die down.

"Our friends here come from a small school in Westchester County. I have been in touch with their school's Headmaster, and they will be spending the year with us, learning about us, and hopefully engendering a positive relationship across the ocean. They will be joining our sixth years, so as to not interfere with the last months of NEWT preparation for those in their seventh year with us, and I've asked the Hat to put one in each of our four Houses, so, Professor McGonagall, if you would?"

The witch moved again to place the Hat on the stool, where for the second time that night, it began to sing.

For the first time in a thousand years  
I need an encore for my song  
And though I may extemporize  
I still won't guide you wrong

From far off lands our guests have come  
These times are surely changing  
One to each house, their home this year  
Is what I'll be arranging

Be it Gryffindor or Ravenclaw  
To Slytherin or Hufflepuff  
Put me on, and you'll soon see  
I'm one hat that knows its stuff.

"Please come forward, place the Sorting Hat atop your head," McGonagall spoke. "When it announces your house, walk over to that table and take a seat. Grey, Rachel!"

*_Gah! __Don't they believe in disinfectant?* _she sent to the others as she crossed the floor. *_Based on the kids at the Institute, hygiene isn't always a top priority, especially for eleven year old boys.*_

*_Clearly they use m__agical germicide,* _came Illyana's answer.

_*Be serious, you two,*_ Kitty admonished them both.

The red headed girl picked up the hat and cautiously placed it on her head. Her face grew pensive, as the Hat made its decision. Finally, it let out a shout of "GRYFFINDOR!" to thunderous applause from that table, and polite clapping from the rest of the audience.

"Pryde, Katherine!"

Kitty looked nervous. She gave Piotr's arm a light squeeze before walking purposefully towards the stool. The hat did not wait long to sort her, with a hearty cry of "RAVENCLAW!"

"No surprise there," commented Illyana quietly to her brother, who merely nodded, worry evident on his face.

"Rasputina, Illyana!"

"Ooh, my turn!" she said, her blonde hair streaming behind her as she practically ran to the Hat. The Hat, in turn, struggled. It looked, for lack of a better term and for as much as a piece of headwear can look, confused. As the minutes rolled by, Piotr could see his sister whispering something.

"If you insist," the Hat said, "you can be in SLYTHERIN!"

"Rasputin, Peter!"

At the sound of his name, he sighed and headed forward. He did not like this, being separated from Katya. What he remembered of the films was a sense of divisiveness among the houses, worse than there had ever been between the various offshoot teams of X-men. He did not relish the idea of having to deal with the petty squabbles of youth. But he would be steadfast, and hopefully the time here would be brief, yet long enough for his fiancée and sister to both enjoy themselves.

In the movies, the Hat had spoken aloud, but it was instead inside his head that he heard it say, _Very interesting. At least I can read you, unlike your sister. I've never had a mind I could not read like that. But nonetheless, it seems that the final House is also the perfect fit for you. You may be terribly brave, and there may be a darkness within you, but, absent Gryffindor, the House that suits you best would be-_ "HUFFLEPUFF!"

He nodded gravely, removed it and placed it gently on the stool. He straightened his shoulders and strode over to meet his new housemates.

A tall, handsome boy of about seventeen was the first to greet him. "Hi Peter," he said with a smile, "I'm Cedric Diggory, one of the prefects for Hufflepuff House. We're glad to have you!"

Piotr shook his hand, and mentally adjusted himself to the name "Peter" again. He'd gone back to his Russian name when he was with Excalibur, to avoid confusion with the spy – and Kitty's ex – Pete Wisdom, and it had stuck somewhat. It was, after all, the name he'd heard for the first sixteen years of his life. But he was to be Peter here, then Peter he would be. "It is my pleasure," he said, shaking Cedric's hand.

Professor Dumbledore stood once again, "And now that our guests are well placed, I hope you will all make them welcome during their stay. And with that, if you will allow me, Mr. Weasley, to say a few more words,…" The boy at the Gryffindor table blushed nearly the same color as his hair. "Tuck in."

Piotr – Peter, now – watched with some amazement as the table filled with large roasts, heaps of mashed potatoes, as well as decidedly British specialties such as Black Pudding and pork pie. He sampled a little of each, mostly out of politeness, and found it all delicious. "My compliments to your chefs," he said, "this is really quite excellent."

"Ah," replied Cedric, "Friar! Our guest offers compliments to the House Elves in the kitchen!"

A smaller translucent form drifted over, "Wonderful. I should say they will be well pleased to hear it, after the troubles before."

"Troubles?" asked the Prefect.

"Oh, Peeves was just being his usual self. The Bloody Baron would not let him come to today's festivities, and then some students apparently thwarted him from terrorizing the first years, so he went down to the kitchens and caused quite the disturbance."

"Why that thing is still in the castle is beyond me," said a younger boy of about fourteen, his blonde hair still dripping wet. "You'd think that Dumbledore would've had it exorcised years ago."

"Maybe, Zecharias," said Cedric, "and maybe he has reasons. You never know with Professor Dumbledore. He's brilliant, but he's got an odd sense of humor. Besides, I've heard Peeves has been here as long as this castle, and if Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin didn't – or couldn't – expel him, then I think we may be stuck with him."

"Has this Peeves actually injured anyone?" asked Peter, curious, "Other than their pride, I mean?"

"He can get a bit vicious, but generally nothing worse than the students pranking each other."

Peter nodded, remembering Illyana's threat of her Soulsword, which could destroy almost all things magical. If the poltergeist were beyond the measures of this world to control him, and he were a danger to the children here, he might suggest that his sister take steps.

"Peeves can be a bother," said the ghostly Friar, "but I've always felt it is in our interest to forgive his trespasses. And, should he step out of line, there is always the Bloody Baron to rein him in."

Dinner went on. There had been a disturbance over at the Gryffindor table where the one with the bushy hair – Hermione, he remembered – had spilled her drink, apparently causing the ghost of a knight to laugh hard enough to dislodge his almost completely severed head.

After a delectable course of desserts, Professor Dumbledore again went to the podium, silencing the student body. He told them, albeit with a degree of insouciance, of new items added to a banned list, and warned them about the Forest and the ban on younger students in the village of Hogsmeade.

He went on to say that the Quidditch Cup would not be held that year, leading to a massive outcry from the assembly, including much of the Hufflepuff table around Peter. Cedric, he noted, had a slightly disappointed expression, but did not seem shocked liked the others. As the Headmaster asked for order, he leaned in and stated, "You are not surprised."

"No," answered the boy, "My father is in the Ministry, and heard about something really wonderful happening this year. It's too bad that Quidditch will be lost, but it really will be the most exciting time to be here at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore was trying to explain when, as a particularly massive thunderclap boomed overhead, the doors to the Hall banged open, and a grizzled wizard limped in. Every eye in the room turned to watch him, a scarred caricature of a man.

"Who is that?" whispered the boy Cedric had called Zecharias.

"Mad-Eye Moody," Cedric whispered back. "He's an old auror, one of the best. My dad told me he was in a bit of trouble this morning, but I guess it was all sorted."

Peter took in the appearance of the man skeptically, knowing him to be a fraud. He had dealt with enough shapeshifters during his time with the X-men, Nightcrawler's mother Mystique, for one, and did not relish the idea of keeping this man's identity secret. To expose the man for what he was, however, would derail the natural course of events, and their job was to stop Mr. Sinister.

Dumbledore greeted him warmly and introduced "Alastor Moody" to the Hogwarts students as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but they were too stunned to offer even polite applause. Peter watch him intently, trying to see those mannerisms that would show him to be the villain, but aside from the dependence on the hip flask, there was no sign.

He was so focused on Moody that he did not hear the announcement about the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He blinked as the children around him – he thought briefly that he needed to correct that line of thought, that his physical age was not so much older than them – began to talk amongst themselves excitedly.

A muscular, brown-haired girl was talking to Cedric, asking if he was going to try out for the Tournament, "C'mon, Ced, you're one of the best young wizards in the school, you gotta do this for Hufflepuff!"

He smiled, "I'll think about it, O'Flahety. It would give me something to do with no Quidditch this year."

"Tell me about it!" she laughed, "If only I was a year older, I know I'd take a shot."

"At least that age line will keep St. Potter from entering," joked another boy, to the laughter of those around him.

"Do you think you will be allowed to enter, Peter?" asked the girl, "Oh! I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Maxine O'Flahety, I'm one of the Beaters on the Hufflepuff squad."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Maxine," Peter said, "But, to answer your question, I don't believe we will be invited to participate, and it seems better for that, if it is traditionally among those three schools."

"Yeah, I guess so," she replied. She looked like she had something else to ask, but lost her nerve and returned to a group of her friends, who seemed beset by a giggling fit.

"Nice dodge," said Cedric approvingly.

"Thank you," he answered with a smile. He found himself liking this genial, charismatic boy, even knowing it was a mistake to become personally involved. He wondered if he would be able to let him be sacrificed, just to let this story go on as written. He could see Rachel's point clearly – it was one thing to think of the situation academically, quite another to step back when you had the power to intervene.

"All right, Hufflepuffs," Cedric said, "Time to head to bed. Second years, make sure the first years get settled in. First years, if the second years tell you something that sounds fishy, it probably is. Especially if it's Touchstone." A round faced boy with light brown hair tried to look innocent. The prefect gave him a suspicious look, "Really, Frederick? Aren't you feeling well?" He resumed his address to his Housemates, "If you aren't sure, feel free to ask me or one of the other prefects."

He headed determinedly out the door, Peter walking easily a half pace behind him, with the others a veritable sea of black robes and hats following.

A large group – far too large for Peter's tastes – were right at their heels, all of the girls whispering and giggling as they went.

"Sorry about that," said Cedric, noting the discomfort on his face. "The younger students tend to be a bit overenthusiastic, especially at the beginning of term." The prefect shot a glance back at on of the first years, who nearly tripped over her own feet at the sight of his gaze. She blushed furiously and dropped of the pace. "They tend to calm down as soon as classes start."

"Is that your experience, then?" asked Peter.

Cedric managed to look a bit sheepish. "No," he said with a lopsided smile, "not especially."

Peter reflected back to the days growing up in the _Rodina_ – his homeland. He remembered walking home quickly, his ears burning in response to yet another attempt by one of the village's daughters to take advantage of his shy, helpful nature. Back then, he'd always heeded his mother's advice, leaving a legion of disappointed admirers, not to mention the countless aspersions on his manhood and sexuality by the jilted and the jealous.

He certainly did not relish having to live through that all over again.

Cedric took them down towards the kitchens, shortening his stride at times to allow the little ones to keep pace. When a stack of barrels appeared on their left, he called the column to a halt. "Listen up, everyone. This is going to be your home here to the next seven years. Look around you – these are your family. The other houses may be known for bravery, or cleverness, or ambition. They may even look down on 'poor little Hufflepuff'. But I'll tell you this – no House is like ours. We work hard, we watch each other's backs, and we make sure that no one is left behind. Hufflepuffs have reached Minister of Magic several times. Hufflepuffs wrote some of those books you'll be studying. But only the interesting ones, the boring ones all had Ravenclaw authors. Ask Susan about her aunt, who heads up the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and has a seat on the Wizengamot. There's no House with more professional Quidditch players than ours, probably because of how well we work together. Connolly and Moran, from the World Champion squad – both Hufflepuffs.

"It all starts here, at this entrance." He tapped a rhythm on one of the barrels, causing the slid to swing wide. "Now, everybody, the Sorting Hat has made us this family. Leave any fears, any prejudices, any worries behind you at this door. You're home, and we will take care of you."

With that, he crawled through the barrel, and then down a passageway leading to a cozy, low-beamed room all done up in black and yellow, with large, plush armchairs in front of a roaring fire. A large portrait of a matronly looking woman in yellow, drinking a cup of tea, was in the center of the room, flanked by intricate carvings of two badgers. The warmth of the wood and an abundance of well-tended plants contrasted sharply with the dank stones of the dungeon they'd passed through, and despite everything, it felt somewhat… homey, if that was the word.

"Come on, you'll be staying in the same room as me and my friends. Thankfully we've got an open bed for you." He turned to direct one of the first year boys to the lavatory, and then pointed to another passage. "This way."

Peter started to follow, but was distracted by a particularly beautiful still life (for a given value of still, as the candle in the painting actually flickered, causing the shadows to come to life). He turned to get a better look at the intricacies of this "wizarding artwork', and thus didn't hear Cedric's warning until too late.

The crack of his head hitting the lintel of the door stunned him momentarily, forcing him back. His right heel, already through the door, caught on the bottom, and he went down in a heap.

Cedric grinned, "I tried to stop you – I really did. I'm afraid it appears to be one of those lessons you just have to learn for yourself. I spent much of my first year with a near permanent black and blue spot on my forehead." He held out his hand to Peter, who accepted gratefully. "It's cozy, but the doorways here were never meant for people my size, much less yours."

"_Bozhe moi_," he grunted, regaining his balance. "This will not be easy."

"The ceilings in the bedrooms are a bit higher than the common room, but I'm afraid you're going to be stooping a lot this year."

Peter sighed, then yawned.

They walked quickly; Peter happy to stretch his legs, despite the slight bend to his stride he adopted to ensure the safety of his aching skull. He noted that he'd have to make sure to incorporate some yoga into his exercise routine to maintain flexibility. "Does Hogwarts have any sort of calisthenics?" he asked.

"Not as such, no," Cedric answered, "During Quidditch season, which, let's face it, is pretty much all year, we train pretty hard. Some of the classes can be demanding – wait until you have Hagrid for Care of Magical Creatures – but nothing really organized. How was it at your school?"

Peter fought to keep from blushing. He really did not want to lie. "Physical training is very important in Westchester. We are taught that our powers – our magic – is not always available to us."

"I've heard that it's much harder to be a witch or wizard in the States."

"This is true. People fear that which they don't understand, and that fear turns easily to persecution. We have to hide ourselves, and there are very few places like Hogwarts or Diagon Alley to… be ourselves."

Cedric frowned, "That sounds terrible. I'll probably be bothering you with tons of questions over the year, but I have some prefect duties to go through and you probably want to get some rest. I'm sure my roommates and I – our roommates, I guess - will be catching up for a while, so I'll try to make sure we don't wake you when we come up."

"Thank you. I, too, will probably have many questions as we go along. But yes, sleeping sounds like an excellent idea."

With that, Cedric left the bedroom. Peter changed to some loose pajamas, and ran through a quick series of stretches before seeking his bed.

*_Rachel, can you hear me?_*

*_Loud and clear, Petey._* came the thought. *_Still waiting on Kate and you sister though. Probably still geeking out over being here. How're things working out for you?*_

He sent the telepathic equivalent of a shrug. *_I am sharing a room with Cedric Diggory…*_

_*Ouch. Probably for the best we'll be out of here long before he gets zapped.*_

_*I have serious reservations about that. How can we just stand idly by and let him die?*_

Rachel's mindspeak was grim, *_Welcome to my world.* _Her attention was suddenly diverted. *_Hold on, Kitty and 'Yana are here.*_

*_OK* _came Kitty's "voice", *_How cool was that?*_

_*I know!* _thought Illyana, *_I mean, there were some people grumbling that I'm not pure-blood, and I nearly let slip that both Snape and Voldy are half-breeds themselves… but apparently, when it came out that old Great Grandad was ol' Grigori Rasputin, all was forgiven. I think he was one of their kinda wizards!*_

_*A Harry Potter-esque wizard _and_ a mutant,* _Kitty responded_. *Very interesting. I wonder just how much a genetic component exists for them? So… what's everyone's room like? We never got to see the Hufflepuff Common Room in the books or the movies. I think it was supposed to be up on _Pottermore_, but I never had a chance to sign up.*_

_*The door frames are low._* thought Peter, wincing.

Rachel then suggested that she just move the information telepathically to save time. Kitty was disappointed, but assented. Peter could tell that she had to keep from laughing when the memory of him hitting his head flashed by.

*_First class is at nine o'clock, breakfast starts around seven. Did we want to meet up then, or earlier?*_

_*Meeting at seven would be fine, Ray*, _thought Kitty, *_Although we should probably sit with our Houses. I cannot believe I'm actually saying that!*_

_*Me either*! _came Illyana's laughing thought.

_*We'll need to find a place to stay in shape, to stay focused, and to plot how to take down Sinister. Think about that, everyone.*_

_*I think you two would probably know better than us*, _Rachel sent.

_*Probably. 'Yana and I will work on that.* _Kitty sighed, *_This is weird. Haven't had to sleep alone – or with five other people in the same room – in a long while. Guess we should all get our beauty rest.*_

_*Agreed.*_

_*Oh, and Piotr Nikolaievitch?*_

*Da_?*_

_*I love you.*_

_*I love you too, Katya.*_

* * *

Several hours after midnight, the figure moved stealthily through the Hogwarts corridors. It had been a challenge to get in the castle, but the ultimate outcome would be worth it. Plans within plans, that was the way to success. And at the end of those plans within plans was the key to immortality.

Smiling, the figure slipped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Patience was a virtue, one that had been mastered over these many decades. A few more months, and there would be no more need for patience.


	5. A Lack of Chemistry in the Dungeons

Chapter 5  
A Lack of Chemistry in the Dungeons

Could it be that you need me  
To keep you out, to run you faster  
Promise me you'll let me be the one  
The worst of all your enemies  
Pretending you're a friend to me  
Say that we'll be nemeses  
-Jonathan Coulton, "Nemeses"

Despite being in an unfamiliar room, in a bed that didn't quite fit his nearly six and a half foot frame, Peter fell asleep quickly. He'd heard that was a skill developed by soldiers, firefighters, and others in high-stress, low-sleep professions, and he knew that life as an X-man certainly fell into that category. But fast asleep often meant fast awake, and when Cedric and his roommates made their way to bed, he was alert within seconds.

"-talk to him tomorrow," came Cedric's whispered voice, "He seems like an all right chap."

"He's bloody huge, is what he is," came another hushed voice.

He was embarrassed to eavesdrop like this, and considered letting them know he was awake. He held his tongue, however, not wanting to be grilled about his cover story. He really wasn't cut out for espionage work, and really was ill-suited to the task set before him. But this was for Katya and Illyana, after all, so he would do his best. And he had his own motivations for wanting to defeat Mr. Sinister – the man had been responsible for the deaths of a large portion of his extended family.

"-wonder if he played Quidditch in the States. Can you imagine him as keeper - he could block two hoops all by himself."

"Don't they play Quodpot there? Besides, he's probably too heavy to maneuver well on a broom. I'm guessing he's not too bright either, with all those muscles."

That was a common perception, Peter reflected, if one that Dr. Hank McCoy didn't have to deal with anymore. But the association of "Bricks" (as Katya called them) as dumb muscle was fairly well established. He would admit that he was no genius, but his course of study at the Institute had provided him a well-rounded education. He'd even surprised Tony Stark, the Incredible Iron Man, once, when the two of them had been dispatched on a mission together. He knew he was not stupid; perhaps that should be enough.

Of course, if he fell flat on his face in the morning's lessons, it would serve to justify that impression. He tried to tune out the whispers of the other students and relax his thoughts. He mused again on how he was the least prepared for this sort of thing. Illyana was used to practicing magic, having been a sorceress for much of her life. The words and wands may have been different, but the concept was the same. Rachel's powers of visualization had been honed by her mental abilities, and she was used to working with things remotely. Even Kitty, who also had a physical mutation, had both her knowledge of the books and a lifetime of computer and scientific work to aid her. He was just a brute compared to them. He worked with his hands, punching or lifting or crushing with muscles and tendons of organic steel. His idea of working at a distance was to throw a teammate – usually Wolverine in their patented "fastball special" – at the enemy. And while he was an artist, it was again his hand holding the brush, a physical act of creation.

He pushed these doubts out of his mind and let himself drift back to sleep.

He woke with the sun, a little after six in the morning. He stretched and climbed out of bed, and stumbled to his trunk for clothes. He moved silently out of their room and towards the bathroom Cedric had indicated the previous evening. The fixings appeared ancient, but elegant, apparently carved from marble with brass fittings. He realized then that he should have asked Cedric about the showers.

He looked down at the wand he'd been given, deciding the key to the facilities lay somewhere in it. He did not know where his sister had obtained it, or the ones now wielded by the other X-men here at Hogwarts. She had consulted with Dumbledore, and the popped off to parts – and perhaps times – unknown, insisting that they could not purchase wands at that store in the movies – Ollivander's – because it would blow their cover. He had not thought people would be so discerning, but the professor had agreed with Illyana. So he had ended up holding a thin, pale wand about fifteen inches in length, waving it at the shower heads somewhat aimlessly.

He was about to just use the _Aguamenti _charm he'd learned when Cedric came into the bathroom, a towel over his shoulder. "You're an early riser, Rasputin," he said with a yawn.

"I was raised on a Muggle farm. I learned to be up with the sun."

"Trouble with the showers? We probably could have had you go through orientation with the first years. I imagine things are very different across the pond." He walked down to a shower a few stalls away, removing his robe. "Just tap the shower head with your wand to start the water. If you want it warmer, just turn your wand clockwise, and the opposite for cooler."

"_Spasiba,"_ Peter said, entering a stall a couple away and pulling off his pajamas. He tapped the fixture, and was rewarded with a burst of very warm water. He used the wand to turn it down, preferring a colder shower. "I thought that the prefects had their own bathroom?"

"Yeah, up on the fifth floor, but there's two prefects from fifth to seventh, plus a Head Boy and Girl and Quidditch captains, so you've got thirty students vying for it. Fitting time in your schedule can be a bit trying." Cedric noted. "So if I need to get a little cleaner than a _scourgify_ will get me, and don't have time for a bath, I hit the showers early in the morning. Besides," he said, "it helps me clear my head after a long night."

"I know that feeling, yes," Peter answered. He showered quickly, and got dressed in the regulation Hogwarts uniform, dark slacks, white dress shirt, grey sweater, with a tie of blue and bronze. He brushed his teeth and ran a hand through his thick black hair.

Cedric joined him at the sink next to him, using his wand to quick dry his longish brown hair. "You know, maybe half the girls in Hufflepuff who would've jinxed their own grandmothers to see the two of us showering. Some of the boys too, I imagine."

Peter looked shocked for a moment, and then noticed Cedric's smile. "You are… how do they say it… taking the mickey on me?"

"Out of you, yes," the boy laughed, "Sorry, but you looked like you could do with a laugh this morning, head off those 'first day' nerves. We have to meet with Professor Sprout to get our class schedules first thing, and if I read correctly and we get in, we'll have Double Potions with Professor Snape this morning. He's tough but fair." He thought for a moment, "Well, if you aren't a Gryffindor, I suppose. But he'll probably want to see what you've got, so you need to be on your toes."

"Thank you," the mutant said, "I think."

"So, your wand, do you mind?" Cedric nodded his head towards the stick in Peter's hand.

"Is this… another joke?" he answered, hesitating as he stated to hand it over.

Cedric looked confused. Then he laughed, "Oh, hah, no. I was just curious. No crossing wand jokes. I just haven't seen one like that."

Peter passed it on, "It's Ironwood. American Ironwood, that is, similar to your Hornbeam." His mind ran over the information his sister had grilled him on.

"Core?"

"D_omovoi_ hair."

"I'm not familiar with that one," the prefect said, his brow furrowing.

Peter found himself hoping that this was the Hogwarts education found wanting, and not his sister "taking the mickey out of" him. "It is a house spirit found in Russia."

"Ah," said Cedric. He seemed somewhat uncomfortable. "So… are you, I mean, do you have, that is… some of the girls stopped me last night and wanted to know if – I mean really asked, not me teasing you again asked, because I realize how this must sound…"

"Cedric," Peter said patiently, "what is on your mind?"

"I noticed you staring at one of your fellow students. The one sorted into Ravenclaw."

"_Da._ Katya. Forgive me if I was being rude."

"No, nothing like that. She's your girlfriend, is she?" the boy asked.

"She is my…," Peter paused, thinking about how to put their relationship. "Yes, I suppose that would be the best way to describe things."

"Sounds complicated," Cedric said, flashing that winning, slightly crooked smile. "Ah well, I'll see you down at breakfast then?"

"Certainly," Peter said, "It's a date."

Cedric flashed him a surprised look, then laughed. "I think you'll fit right in, Peter."

The Russian smiled back, and then left for breakfast, unsure how good a fit it was.

* * *

Kurt found Remus Lupin to be one of the dourest individuals he'd ever met. Not without cause, of course. Fired from a job at which he'd apparently excelled over the curse of his lycanthropy. Losing one of his best friends to a, well, a supervillain, for all intents and purposes, and thinking another friend was responsible.

He felt a kinship to the man, too. He, too, had been ostracized for being different, and knew something of the despair it could bring. He'd overcome that, by being brought up with a loving adoptive family, and later with a new home amongst the X-men. He'd also had his faith, and those were factors that he thought might be lacking from the life of Remus Lupin.

Lupin, to his credit, had barely flinched when Kurt had deactivated the image inducer disguising his features.

"I can see how that would have left Umbridge gobsmacked," was all he'd said.

"You know her?"

"Oh yes," Lupin said, "Madame Undersecretary put forth a few new laws last year to control the 'filthy werewolf menace'. It requires any prospective employer to demonstrate not only that an afflicted individual has multiple Ministry approved references and that the werewolf in question is maintaining a strict regimen of wolfsbane potion, but that they have the wherewithal to control any outbreaks, and are criminally liable for any damage done by a werewolf in their employ."

Kurt frowned. Such discrimination should be unconscionable in rational society, but he had experienced multiple attempts at mutant and other superhuman regulation in America, and knew things were even worse in some other countries. "I take it there is no legal recourse to challenge unjust laws? A Wizarding Supreme Court, of some sort?"

"The Wizengamot? They passed the laws. Over Dumbledore's objections, certainly, but nevertheless, there was official sanction."

Kurt tried to consider how the judicial and legislative responsibilities could be housed in one body and shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"But not surprising, sadly. It leaves me in an awkward position, relying on some small savings and whatever odd work I can find, from people who do not share the Undersecretary's prejudices," the man said, "I feel guilty accepting payment from Professor Dumbledore for our investigative work, but I really have little choice."

"I only hope we can find some results soon," said Kurt. "We really need to get into your culture's archives, I fear. Our foe does not seem to have left much here in my world by way of a paper trail. Does your 'Diagon Alley' have any effect on technology – Muggle devices?"

"There is some interference, I fear. Not to the extent as at Hogwarts. But I may have some other disguise options for you, honestly. If your device were to fail, Umbridge would likely find out within the hour. You'll be in Azkaban, or worse, given Dolores' feelings to non-humans."

"Forgive us our trespasses, O Lord," Kurt muttered to himself. "How does a woman like that rise to power?"

"By leeching onto the right people. By having a single-minded determination and self-assurance that she is right. And by being insulated from the consequences of her actions."

"I wouldn't mind giving her some consequences, would you?"

Lupin frowned, "Anything we could do would only come back on us tenfold."

Kurt laughed, putting his arm around the man. "Not if we do it right – and anonymously. I've heard you used to be quite the prankster. I think a side project in order, to keep us occupied when our research isn't progressing. I think the Undersecretary needs a bit of an education in real word karma."

* * *

The four X-men had gathered at the hall briefly, comparing notes and, for Peter and Kitty, exchanging a quick embrace, before they'd gravitated to their respective tables for another sumptuous meal. Peter had then waited for the other sixth years to get their class schedules, before meeting with Professor Sprout and getting his own course of study.

The woman was kindly, and happy to see he had chosen to take Herbology. She also gave him a warning that not every teacher at Hogwarts was enjoying their presence at the school. And so he faced his first Potions class with a degree of dread, thinking the dungeon setting a foreboding tableau.

"The Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests," the voice boomed from behind them. "The total and summation of your years of learning here at Hogwarts, illustrating that you are competent enough in a subject to practice it outside these walls in your chosen profession. There is a reason I only allow those who received 'Outstanding' on their O.W.L. to join my class; your performance is my reputation, and I will not have it impugned by releasing unprepared cretins to the Wizarding World. For the next two years, I will push you harder than you have ever been pushed. You will forget you ever heard the words 'good enough'; only perfected potions will receive passing grades. You will commit to memory the recipes for hundreds of draughts, and you will learn to create your own elixirs based on your understanding of their alchemical properties. You will do all this, or you will leave now."

The man strode forward to the front of the class. "Our headmaster, for reasons of his own, as seen fit to saddle this class with our foreign guests, over my most strenuous objections. Note now that I will not allow this to interfere with the proper learning required for my real students; these individuals should not presume to have any rights to my time - that is reserved for the students who require it to pass their N.E.W.T. next year. If any one of our guests can keep up with the curriculum, so be it. Let them take this knowledge back across the sea with them, a precious flame of learning to spread to the unwashed masses of the former colonies."

Peter could feel Kitty tense next to him, and reached over to lay a calming hand on hers. They'd sat together when given the opportunity sharing a lab table in the back. Rachel had declined to take this class, which was all well and good, since she probably would have put the professor into a psychic coma by now, and Illyana was sitting with a Slytherin girl.

"Do you have a problem, Miss Pryde?" Professor Snape asked with a dangerous lilt to his voice.

Kitty met his gaze, the set of her jaw showing that she had reinforced the mental shields she'd learned over the years. She'd mentioned that there were stories, not in the books, but several fanfiction entries that talked of Snape as having practiced the telepathy analog known as Legimency on his students. "No, Professor," she said carefully, "I had hoped to learn something in this class, but if it has to be whatever scraps you happen to throw our way, then I shall be happy for it."

Peter looked at her, seeing her bite her tongue.

"Perhaps you feel that I am being unfair? That you and your classmates can provide some benefit to these children, for whom each moment of study may be critical to their very future? Do tell."

"I didn't-"

"Tell me, Miss Pryde, how much salamander blood is required for a Strengthening Solution?"

Kitty chewed her lip, trying to remember.

"No? Then, how about the ingredients to the Draught of Living Death?"

"Um… moondew. Wormwood. Er, valerian root. Asphodel?"

Professor Snape sneered, "Are you asking me? The Hat put you in Ravenclaw. I can only assume that is because someone had to be put in each house. You forgot sopophorous beans, sloth brain, and crushed snake fangs. Why don't we try something easier? Brew us up some Polyjuice Potion."

"I can't do that, Professor," Kitty said, desperately holding on to her temper, "And you know it."

"And why not? Beyond your abilities?" His tone was growing more condescending.

"Because I doubt you'll give me a month to brew it, or the boomslang skin or bicorn horn to create it."

"Twenty points from Ravenclaw for cheek, Miss Pryde," the professor said triumphantly. "Do not presume what I might have let you do."

In the silence that followed, there was an audible pop that Peter was surprised to see come from the knuckles of his left hand, clenched so tight that it was turning white.

"Did you wish to join the conversation, Mr. Rasputin? Do you think you would prove yourself less a failure than your partner?" The man's dark eyes bored into his, daring him to take up the challenge.

"Katya is not a failure," he said, stiffly. "And I do not appreciate you accusing her of being one. I also wonder if any of these other students would have been able to answer your questions in the few seconds you provided."

"Oh, you wonder, do you?" came the sarcastic reply, "I think we should find out then. I want seventy-two inches of parchment from each of you, describing the origins of, proper brewing techniques for, and legal ramifications for unauthorized use of those potions due next class."

There was a collective groan from the other students.

"And twenty points from Hufflepuff for your presumption, Mr. Rasputin," Professor Snape said. "Is there anything else? Perhaps your sister would like to see if I will take points from my own House?"

Illyana had been about to say something, and her lab partner was whispering at her furiously. Illyana looked non-plussed, but at a scarcely noticeable nod from Kitty, backed down.

"I can fight my own fights, Professor," said Kitty, "Although I fail to see why there needs to be one over whether a teacher should teach the students in his class."

"Is this the legendary American rudeness, students talking back to professors without fear or respect? Is this what comes from a nation that maintains the pretence of equality?" the instructor said, his clipped speech somehow illustrated the "c" in the word. "I, for one, will not tolerate such behavior. Another ten points from Ravenclaw, I think, and Detention, Miss Pryde."

"Fine," Kitty said, eyes still locked with his defiantly.

They made it through the rest of the class without too much incident, although Professor Snape dumped out their attempt at a Blood-Replenishing potion without comment. Illyana's effort with her partner, on the other hand, garnered 10 points for Slytherin for perfectly matching the described consistency and color.

Peter knew that Kitty was barely holding on to her temper as they exited the dungeon. He motioned her over as they walked past a side corridor, and pulled her into a hug.

"I want to hit something," she said, finally. "I can't believe I let him goad me like that. I guess it isn't just Gryffindors he hates after all."

Illyana had wound her way through the crowd of students to duck in behind them. "That Snape… will never be my devoted love slave," she said with a little pout.

Peter looked at his sister, then at Kitty. They both giggled, then laughed.

"C'mon kids," Illyana said, "let's get some lunch." She threw her arms around them and they headed towards the staircase.

* * *

"Aescwine?" asked Fleur Delacour in French, catching up to the rising star of Beaxbatons, "May I ask you a question?"

The boy turned smartly around. "Yes, mademoiselle?"

"I was wondering," she said, "if you could teach me that self-transfiguration you should in class today. I could almost swear you were an animagus, you were so convincing."

"It is very advanced magic, Madamoiselle Delacour. I do not think Headmistress Maxime would approve," he stated evenly. "I will, if you wish, ask her."

With that, the boy turned again on his heel and walked away, in that clipped, even stride.

Fleur frowned. She'd given him the full weight of her Veela heritage, and he hadn't even blinked. The boy was just impossible. She knew she was good enough to represent her school, that she could be Tri-Wizard Champion on her own, but how could she convice Madame Maxime, or the judges, with the Amazing Aescwine around.

She let out a quiet, unladylike curse, then went back to the library to study up on some more advanced Transfiguration of her own.

* * *

Lunch was somewhat awkward, as the whole of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had heard about their misadventures during potions. There were grumblings at the lost points, some sympathy (mostly from Gryffindor students), and an air of superiority from many of the Slytherin students.

Peter, Kitty and Illyana caught up with Rachel and filled her in with the events from Potions. They found an open end of Hufflepuff table, away from the muttering and accusatory looks.

Cedric came in and glared down a few of the more sullen Hufflepuffs. "Don't worry about them, Peter. Running afoul of Professor Snape on the first day is an old and honored Hogwarts tradition. They'll get over it soon enough. Besides, you were right - I know I couldn't have done any better than your friend did on the spur of the moment."

"Thank you," the X-man replied, "I have to say that his animosity caught me off guard, despite Professor Sprout's warnings."

"He was in rare form today. Probably upset he doesn't have the Weasley twins to take points from this year." the boy said, "I'm inclined to believe that those two bombed their OWL on purpose so they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore."

"Oh?"

"Some of the stuff I've had to confiscate from them - I don't think I could have pulled off that level of sophistication, even with my 'O' in Potions."

"Ah," replied Peter, who finally responded to his sister's repeated elbows to his ribs. "But where are my manners? May I introduce you to my friends?"

"About time," muttered Illyana under her breath.

Peter smiled, but first gestured towards Kitty, across the table. "This is my girlfriend, Katherine Pryde. Katya, this is Cedric Diggory."

Cedric leaned across the table to shake her hand. "A pleasure. Rasputin here is a lucky man. And my apologies for the way you were treated today."

"It's all right," she said. "The sad thing is that I should have been able to answer his questions. I usually can handle myself under pressure. I guess I just mislabeled something my mnemonic filing cabinet." At the Prefect's slightly puzzled expression, she tried again, "My internal pensieve sprang a leak.'

"Ah," he said, knowingly. "I've had that happen too. Particularly with the Goblin Wars for the History of Magic OWL."

"And this," Peter said, indicating Rachel and ignoring his sister's stink eye, "is Rachel Grey."

Rachel gave a slight wave. "Hi."

The Hufflepuff found himself off-balance, bent halfway over the lunch dishes, He blushed, and pulled back to return the gesture. "Er, nice to meet you, Rachel."

"Sorry, Ced. Rachel's in a bit of a snit, 'cause she hasn't had any class yet and she's bored."

"And last, but definitely, absolutely, positively not least is my sister, Illyana Nikolaevna."

The blonde girl gave her brother a steely glare before turning her most winsome smile on Cedric. "Hi there! I hear you're showing big brother the ropes over in Hufflepuff."

Cedric took her offered hand and shook it, gently turning it from horizontal to the vertical. Peter was amused to note that his sister had tried to get the boy to kiss her hand and had been disappointed, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Illyana. Is it true the Sorting Hat couldn't decide where to put you?"

"Oh, that!" she said with a giggle, "Well, a woman must have her mysteries, mustn't she? And of course, I had to choose Slytherin, since Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were taken and my brother would just be eaten alive by all the machinations and maneuverings."

"I would have been all ri-"

"Oh pu-leeze," Illyana laughed, "You're too nice by half."

"She's got you there, Peter," Kitty agreed, "Although an honest man in Slytherin might have been fun to watch."

"I don't know that ambition necessarily equates with dishonesty, Katya, but I do think I would have been an ill fit." Peter pictured having to sleep with one eye open for his entire stay.

"Better for me to bear the burden," Illyana emoted theatrically, "If I must sacrifice my delicate sensibilities for the cause, then so be it. Besides, as a woman, I'm much more adept at the subtle games people play." She suddenly looked over at Rachel, who was glaring intently at her, and stuck her tongue out.

"Manners, Illyana," Peter chided, only to have her do the same at him.

Cedric stood back, watching the interactions between them. "Were you all in the same house in your school? You seem to almost be family. I mean, yes, Peter and Illyana are family, but…" He waved his hands, unable to explain himself.

"It wasn't that big a place, Cedric," Kitty explained. "We weren't separate. And we are very much family. We've… been through a lot, and that always brings people closer."

"Oh," he said. "I rather envy that. My mates are great, and I love my House, but sometimes… well, I think Helga Hufflepuff had it right, that separating us hasn't been the best decision. The petty rivalries, the House Cup, just drive us apart. And it carries over after we graduate. Slytherin alumni almost never associate with Gryffindors. It's rather unfortunate."

"We're too busy surviving in a world that h- would hate and fear us to worry about petty stuff like that. Well, almost. I mean, you get cliques and favoritism everywhere."

Cedric nodded, "I'm glad to head that you aren't completely idyllic. I was starting to wonder if I should move there, but I don't think I'd want to live in hiding like that." He looked up at the position of the sun, and then glanced at a clock on the wall for confirmation. "Are any of you in Arithmancy?"

"Rachel and I are taking it," Kitty said.

"Looks like we'll be classmates, then. Would you mind walking with me to class?"

Kitty looked at the pouting redheaded girl next to her. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them, and then Kitty said, "That would be great. Thank you, Cedric."

The girls pulled their satchels onto their shoulders, and made their way around the table. Kitty leaned down and gave Peter a quick kiss on his cheek before following the Hufflepuff prefect to the strange and wondrous world of Arithmancy.

"So," Illyana said, popping a cookie – a biscuit, Peter reminded himself – into her mouth, "Let's go find that place Kitty wanted."

"You know of such a place?"

"Follow me. We're going up the seventh floor."

A couple hours later, the Rasputin siblings snuck back down to the Great Hall for dinner.

"I get to tell Kitty," Illyana was saying, "She's going to kick herself for forgetting."

They saw the Weasley twins, Fred and George, intercept their brother, Harry Potter and Hermione.

"Come from Dark Arts, then?" said one. "Tell me, is Moody as scary as he seems?"

"Did he curse anyone?" said the other.

"What was he like – tell us!" they continued, in unison.

"He was…," Harry said, fumbling for words.

"He was brilliant!" exclaimed Ron, his eyes wide. "And then what he did to Malfoy. I wish I had Creevey's camera for that. The amazing bouncing ferret!" He burst into laughter, and Harry joined in.

Hermione wasn't impressed, "Professor McGonagall was quite cross with him for that. Totally against the rules. And what about poor Neville?"

"What happened-"

"-to Neville? And what's this about-"

"-a ferret?"

Harry and Ron were still laughing too hard, so Hermione explained about the Three Unforgivable Curses, and Neville's reaction to the Cruciatus Curse, and how Moody had taken the boy back to his office to comfort him. And then, on the way back, how Draco Malfoy had attempted to curse Harry, but had instead been transfigured into a ferret, much to the Deputy Headmistress's consternation. But even Hermione found it difficult to completely hide a smile.

"But we don't have him until Monday!" the twins complained in one voice.

Cedric, Kitty and Rachel came into the hall, smiling and laughing. "I can't believe you're going for ten N.E.W.T.s, Ced," Kitty said.

"My mother would agree with you," he smiled, "But my father reckons it'll give me the best chance to get one of the better Ministry jobs. I can't believe you're going for eight as a transfer student."

"Professor Flitwick wouldn't let me take anymore," she said. "Though if they're all like Potions and Arithmancy…"

"Well, hopefully the other Ravenclaws cut you some slack with the points you got them. Professor Vector was very impressed by that… 'Different Equating'?… you two were doing."

"'Differential equations," Rachel said, a small smile of amusement on her face.

"Hey guys," said Illyana, interrupting them, "Are you boring poor Cedric?"

Cedric blushed a little, laughing, "Not at all. I have to say, maybe you Americans aren't quite as backwards as we thought."

"Glad to hear it, Ced," she grinned, "We're just full of surprises. But do you mind if we borrow these two ladies. We've, er, had an owl from home, and want to share the news.

The boy nodded and made his exit, heading in the direction of some friends at the Hufflepuff dinner table.

*_That was rude, Illyana.*_ thought Kitty. *_Just because you've moved from Snape to Cedric doesn't mean you should-* _

_*Sorry, Kitty, but we've got news. There's a difference between this and the books. Remember how the twins had Moody first, and the Golden Trio later in the week? Well it's the opposite here. We just ran into them and we've already missed the incredible Draco Malferret._*

Kitty frowned, considering. *_OK, that makes sense. The opening feast is supposed to be on the first, and classes start on September 2__nd__. Hopefully that's all this is. Anything else?*_

_*We figured out where we can meet.* _Illyana's mindspeak had a teasing tone, *_And I can't believe you forgot!*_

_*Oh? That's great, 'Yana. Where?*_

_*Where else? The Room of Requirement.*_

* * *

Sorry about the delay. Standard disclaimers apply, all rights to J.K. Rowling and Marvel, no money made. It looks like every two weeks may be a more reasonable schedule. Thanks for reading!


	6. The Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

Chapter 6

The Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

Yesterday is smoke and steam and sand  
All those demons hold me where I stand  
This road could lead me back where I began  
If I only know the way…

Enter the Haggis, "Whistleblower"

Peter found himself awake again at first light. He pulled on a pair of running shorts, a pair of low heel socks and some sneakers. Trainers, reminded himself. The British term was more appropriate, in any event - it would be hard for someone of his size and mass to do much sneaking, anyway. He shook the cobwebs from his head and wondering if it would be possible to get a cup of coffee. He had introduced himself to his other roommates the night before, and they had been full of questions. He'd called on the mindlink with Rachel in desperation, would had in turn patched him into Kitty and Illyana. Kitty said that he was worrying too much, that inconsistencies had little chance of exposing them, unless they caught the attention of Rita Skeeter when she appeared on the scene. He did not entirely share her confidence, particularly when Rachel mentioned the grilling that she'd gotten from Hermione Granger, who had gone looking for a mention of their school in the library. In that case, Dumbledore had apparently come to their rescue, inserting a small mention of Westchester Institute into a book on American schools of Wizardry; he apparently was well aware of the girl's curiosity and had taken some measure to satiate it.

He found his way to a passageway out the rear of the castle. He took a few minutes to stretch, focusing on his breathing, and looked to his left, where the Quidditch field stood in the distance. It might be serviceable enough, but doing laps around a stadium would make for a boring run. Instead, he started off at a slow jog towards the forest looming to the right. He briefly considered the warning from the Opening Feast, but discounted the danger. The children, he recalled, had been in the so-called Forbidden Forest multiple times over the course of the movies, and he didn't remember any significant peril. He lengthened his stride, his long legs moving easily in the early morning light despite the uneven ground.

He lost himself in the joy of the run, listening to the sounds of surrounding woods. He'd never completely understood the desire of Kitty to run with her music player and headphones, to block out her surroundings. His own reverie, however, caused him to miss the threat, until a harsh voice called out for him to stop.

"Humans are not permitted in this woods," said the figure, stepping out from behind a tree. Peter cursed himself for forgetting; he'd just watched the first movie a couple days ago, and there had been a CGI representation of them. The centaur drawing an arrow was no computer fakery, and the look of distaste on his face made it clear just how unwelcome the X-man was. The front hooves pawed at the ground.

"I did not mean to intrude," Peter began.

The centaur spat. "You foals are always flouting the lore."

Two other centaurs emerged from the darkness, arrows nocked and ready, their demeanor no more welcoming than the first.

"An example needs to be made," one said, "and it holds no wand."

"Quickly," said the other, "It is large enough that we can claim to have mistaken it for an adult. We will have to apologize to their Minister, but the warning will be there."

Peter steadied himself.

"I have no quarrel with you," Peter said, "but if pressed, I will defend myself."

"Hah, foolish posturing. Even if it has a wand, our arrows would fell it before it could wield it against us."

Peter spread his hands, to show that he was, indeed, unarmed. "I require none. If you would strike at an unarmed man, well, the choice is yours, as are the consequences. If you are able to kill me..."

"If!" came a derisive laugh.

"If," he affirmed. "Then you will certainly face an inquiry, from both the school, the Ministry, and my friends. And, frankly, it is the last you should fear most. But should you proceed in this course of action, will the burden not fall on all your people? I know of prejudice, and lashing out does nothing but make things much, much worse for you. You will be justifying their hatred, and they will hate you still more. Such a cycle must be broken."

"What do you know of it?"

"More than you could ever know."

"It lies," a centaur said. "It is a wizard, after all."

"A... muggleborn... wizard," Peter replied, hoping they knew of the bigotry against those with non-magical ancestry. "And I believe I have treated you with courtesy, and would hope you would return the favor as a fellow sentient being."

"Nevertheless," the largest said.

_*Change, Peter!*_

He reacted reflexively, conditioned to react in an instant to the telepathic warning. It was by microseconds, then, that arrows impacted against organic steel instead of penetrating into flesh.

Peter couldn't help himself – he smiled. Compared to the normal foes the X-men faced, an arrow, even one shot by the prodigious strength of the centaurs, seemed almost quaint. And the confusion in their faces was somewhat amusing as well. "I did say I was able to defend myself, and you can probably see the futility of attacking me."

The first centaur seemed unimpressed, drawing back his bowstring and loosing another arrow, which struck Peter directly in his left eye with uncanny accuracy.

He screamed in pain, hands flying to his face.

The arrow had not penetrated, but it had hurt him badly. While his armored skin was able to resist laser cannons and tank shells with impunity, his eyes had always been slightly more vulnerable. The Beast – Dr. Hank McCoy – had once estimated that they'd be able to resist a direct hit from a .45 caliber bullet, but Peter had not counted on the sheer power behind that arrow.

He raged. He lashed out at a foot thick tree beside him, felling it with a mighty blow in the direction of the centaur that had wounded him. The creature pranced backwards with a cry of alarm. Colossus grabbed the tree in both hands and swung it at his foes, tangling two of them in its limbs, and sending the last off in a full gallop.

"I. Will. Crush. You," he snarled through gritted teeth.

_*Peter, no!*_ came Rachel's telepathic cry.

"They deserve no less," he said.

And then Kitty was before him, speaking to him. "No, Peter, not this."

"Katya?" he asked, momentarily distracted from his vengeance. "They hurt me, Katya."

"I know," she said, "and we need to get you back to the castle to see how bad it is."

"It can wait." His voice was cold, and it chilled the centaurs he'd captured. "I have something to do first."

"You're better than this, Peter. Please stop."

He'd raised the tree, preparing to thrust it forward and skewer the centaurs, but paused at his fiancé's words. He found himself straining against himself, his muscles seeming to push forward without input from his conscious mind.

"I… cannot, Katya," his voice came, weakly. "I am trying, but…" The cries of shock and pain rang hollowly in his ears, even as he struggled for control of himself. There was a crack, the sound of bones breaking, and he could dimly see a branch poke into the flank of one of the centaurs, blood welling up from the wound.

*_Sorry, Kate, gotta take this one_.* came Rachel's thought, and Kitty abruptly disappeared. She'd never been there, he thought in a remote part of his mind, but had been a telepathic projection. And then he felt his muscles start to lock. *_Don't fight me, big guy. You'll just hurt yourself_.*

*_I am not… fighting you.* _he thought back, but his muscles continued to strain.

*_No, I see that. You're fighting yourself.* _Rachel noted. *_Looks like I'm gonna have to be a bit more direct.*_

With that, he felt the earth beneath his feet heave, lifting him up and throwing both him and the tree backwards, away from the two creatures. Again his thoughts filled with a red, incoherent rage that shocked Rachel.

*_I'm sorry Peter, but I have to do this.* _And from that corner of his mind, Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin watched as she turned his mind off.

* * *

Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic Dolores Jane Umbridge strode purposely into her office, her nose wrinkling at an unfamiliar odor.

"Clarkson!" she called, "Get in here!"

A tall youth hurried to her side, "Yes, Madam?"

Umbridge froze. "Madame what?"

"Madam Senior Undersecretary," he said quickly, "My apologies, Madam Senior Undersecretary." Not getting on her bad side was the very first thing he'd learned when he had been given this internship.

"Fine, fine,' she said, dismissively, "Now can you tell me what you smell in my office?"

Clarkson inhaled deeply, and began to choke. He gasped, "Sulfur, Madam Senior Undersecretary. And brimstone, if I'm not mistaken."

"And what is it doing in my office?"

"I do not know, Madam Senior Undersecretary," he answered. "Shall I call for someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

She shook her head, "Not yet, Clarkson. I will not have them traipsing through my office, with their dirty boots and clumsy ways. They would certainly disturb my darlings." She indicated the collection of kitten plates along the walls. She took out her short wand, and, with a wave, muttered a spell. "No magic has been done here. Probably some goblin sent a stink bomb. Ungrateful wretches."

"But Madam Senior Undersecretary, your door was fastened secure-"

"Never mind what you think, Clarkson. I'm sure that must be it. You are dismissed." She moved to a window and opened it, allowing the stench to be filtered out by the light breeze. Moving to her desk, she saw an envelope, addressed to her in an extravagant hand.

To Madam Dolores Jane Umbridge, it read. She opened the envelope.

My dear Madam Senior Undersecretary,

The stellar work that you have been doing for the Wizarding Community at large has come to our attention, and we are loathe to see such effort go unrewarded. We  
would thus be honored if you would join us as guest of honour at our third annual awards ceremony on 30 September of this year, to be held at Number 13, North Lambeth  
Road, London.

R.S.V.P. by owl at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,  
Mrs. Amanita Paddock  
Director, Thaumaturgical Order of Alchemical Divination

She scoffed at the notice. Surely they were of no great standing if she hadn't heard of them, and were probably trying to use her proximity to the Minister to improve their own social prominence. She crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fireplace, where it promptly vanished with a flash.

She idly scratched her cheek as she turned her attention to the next piece of mail.

"Did she read it?" Lupin asked when Kurt reappeared at his side.

"_Ja_," he answered. He'd been able to secret himself in the shadows of an alley across from her office. "She did not seem to fall for the fake award, though."

Lupin smiled, "That's all right. Just holding the letter is all the fine dusting of Zonko's Insta-wart Powder – with slight modifications – needs to do it's duty."

"That's the spirit!"

* * *

"That's the best I can do," came a familiar, feminine voice.

"It should do," spoke another, an older man. "Poppy should be able to repair any residual damage."

Peter forced himself awake. His body ached all over, and there was a sharp pain in his left eye. His hand drifted up towards his face and found that the eye was bound tightly shut by a bandage.

"Leave it be, Peter," Kitty said, her voice tinged with concern. "There's a lot of damage - Ray did what she could, using her teke to reconstruct the shape of your eye, but we need to get you to the Hospital Wing to make sure you don't lose your vision."

His sister spoke with a laugh, "I dunno if that's such a bad thing. Makes him look rakish, don't you think? A real Pirate Colossus for your Pirate Kitty."

"I do not recall an eyepatch in Katya's story," Peter said, wincing.

"He didn't have one. And I'd prefer the real thing to stay that way too."

"And now, if you would please excuse us. I believe you do have Transfiguration class to attend, and it does not do to be late to Professor McGonagall's class. I would have words with Mr. Rasputin here, if I may."

Dumbledore waited as the three made their goodbyes. with Rachel apologizing again for having taken control of his body, Illyana slugging him lightly on his shoulder, and Kitty planting a quick kiss on his cheek. It wasn't until after they'd left his office and the portal closed behind them that he spoke again. "We are quite used to students flouting the rules here. Usually no harm comes from it, although Mr. Potter and his friends do seem to exhibit the most remarkable talent for mayhem in this regard. But your actions are of a different level. You have wounded members of the herd of centaurs of the Forbidden Forest, you've broken their bones and, most regretfully, have shed their blood. There will likely be demands, I fear, made to the Ministry. And you have revealed your rather peculiar abilities, which will doubtless be revealed in the course of the investigation."

"But they attacked me-!" Peter started to protest, the anger rising again. He fought for control. "No. I am responsible for my actions. I... apologize, Headmaster."

The wizard nodded gravely. "Indeed. All is not lost, I hope. Your adversaries acted without sanction, and none of their wounds should be fatal."

"Should be?" he asked, weakly.

"I do not believe the injuries were too severe. Had you broken a leg…" Dumbledore mused, "Centaurs are half horse, my boy. While not as vulnerable as a pure equine due to their skill at medicine and their own sorts of magic, it is not an inconsequential thing. When we have your eye seen to, you and I will visit their village, whereupon you will issue a sincere apology for your actions."

Peter paused for a moment, before nodding his assent.

"I must say, though, I was taken aback by the ferocity of your response. Your Professor described you X-men as, well, heroes is a bit ostentatious, don't you think, but the concept was there in his words."

"It's…" Peter hesitated. He did not like to talk about his heritage, when he learned that he was descended from the mad monk Grigori Rasputin, and that with the help of Mr. Sinister, the man had projected his consciousness down his genetic line. Now only he and his brother Mikhail had remained. Well, his sister, too, but she had been disembodied for years, and thus had seemingly escaped the curse. But since Sinister was involved – and since it seemed like his ancestor had some connection to this Wizarding World, perhaps silence was not the best policy. "I have… some secrets, Headmaster. I would appreciate if I could tell you in confidence, in case they have some bearing on this."

"Certainly. Word will not leave this room, unless absolutely vital to the security of my school."

"_Da_, that is acceptable." And so he told him what he knew, how he had to fight the madness and the rage. "I can only imagine," he continued, "that it is not in Rasputin's interest to have me killed, which would trap him alone in the void with my brother, so he forced the rage on me. I was unprepared for the onslaught. I will work with Rachel to fortify my mental defenses so he cannot so overwhelm me again."

"That seems the best course, although the idea does intrigue me. I may do some research of my own – perhaps there are some magics he had learned at Durmstrang that went into the final process, and I may find something that will alleviate this curse of yours. But now, if you would just transfigure yourself from your armored form, we can have your eye attended to properly. There's an ointment on the bandage that should take effect immediately to dull any discomfort once you've regained flesh and blood."

The Russian focused, trying to blot out the pain, and triggered his mutation. With a flash, he was human again, and the pain returned to his eye with an explosion of sensation, before diminishing as the professor's poultice did its work. He steadied himself, and then rose.

"Follow me, my lad, and we'll see if we can't undo this kerfuffle with all due speed."

"Already?" Madam Pomfrey said, with a heavy sigh of resignation. "I suppose children will be foolish no matter what side of the pond they are on." Her steely glare as she removed the bandage was intimidating. "The treatment – dittany?" she asked Dumbledore.

"And fennel and yarrow, along with a touch of some more obscure ingredients."

She nodded her approval. "Perhaps one day you'll see fit to share the recipe. As for now," she leaned Peter's head back and pulled back the eyelid, "I've got some drops that will ease the bruising. He'll be good as new in the morning, doubtless to hit his head into something else."

The nurse seemed to accept the excuse that he'd managed to catch the tip of a broomstick in his eye, causing the bruise. She applied the drops and gave him a new eyepatch to wear, telling him, "Rest it for this evening, and do try to be more careful."

"I will, Madam," he said, gratefully. "Thank you."

"Just try not to make a habit of this." She turned to Dumbledore, "Headmaster, should we contact his guardians? It's not a major injury, but I understand things can be different in the States."

"I will make any necessary communication, Poppy, thank you," he answered. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I would like to return Mr. Rasputin to his class schedule. I am most appreciative of your excellent ministrations, as always."

With that, he beckoned to Peter, and they left the Hospital Wing. Once out of earshot, Peter found himself asking, "I had thought that our next step was to go to the centaurs?"

"It is, my boy," the wizard answered. "I do indeed intend to get you back to your classes, but we will make a quick jaunt to the woods first."

* * *

Patience. It did not come easily. No, not after all this time. Today that patience had been lacking, and all could have been lost. No obstacles could be allowed, not now. The goal was in sight, mere months away.

Impatience was another enemy to be overcome. There would be time in the future to address all these wrongs.

* * *

Professor Dumbledore stood in the clearing with Peter, surrounded by a dozen centaurs. His tone was conciliatory as he spoke, "And the boy has come to apologize for his intrusion and for the harm he has caused to your people."

"Blood was drawn, Wizard. Recompense must be made."

"And he shall make it,' the Headmaster said, "Or I shall, in his stead. What is your price?"

"Talk of payment must wait," said one, the leader, "There are dire portents afoot, and whatever our herd may feel about humans, even we cannot ignore the warnings of the stars."

The Professor inclined his head politely, "I would receive the wisdom of the herd gladly, honored Magorian."

The centaur grunted. "We tell you this for our own sake. When your world explodes in violence, it oftentimes spills over onto us, and I cannot allow that to happen if it is in my power to prevent such a catastrophe. You know that our grasp of matters astrological is far beyond your ken, so realize the seriousness of this – the stars have changed their meaning."

Dumbledore looked shocked, "I do not follow – do you mean your interpretations have been altered?"

"No, you do not understand. A new object has been spotted in the night sky. A comet, perhaps. But it speaks of terrible changes in the forthcoming year. A great evil is on the rise, and its shadow is here, on these grounds, hidden in the shadow of one you may call friend. It will betray you, and seek to undo all in its search for power. Be warned then, lest it slay you."

The wizard nodded, stroking his beard. "I will heed your advice, proud Magorian. And as for recompense for your wounded, I offer, say, one hundred galleons?"

"Keep you money," spat another centaur.

"Bane, hold your tongue," the leader said, "But we have little need for gold. But I fear you are too soft-hearted to face the oncoming storm, and we do need to prepare. Three score of arrowheads, and we will let the matter drop."

"Done," said Dumbledore, almost absently, "Provided they not be used on students."

"Done," reiterated Magorian, "Your foals shall be safe so long as they do not attack first."

"Agreed," he answered, "And I will ensure this one – and his friends, do not enter your Forest again. Come Peter."

The pair left, the Headmaster moving swiftly through the trees and Peter following behind, almost running to keep up.

"I wonder," said Peter, "if the centaurs were trying to warn you about the fake Professor Moody, perhaps?"

Dumbledore looked back at him strangely, "Fake Moody? Now why would you think Alastor is a fake?"

"It was in the mov-," he started to reply. Of course, he thought, the Professor would not be able to remember such details. "Ah, my apologies, Headmaster. I had thought… he is the new person at Hogwarts this year, is he not? And I will vouch for my friends."

"Ah yes, but you do have this infection by your ancestor," countered the wizard, "although this is now a known issue, and thus one that I can clearly take steps to monitor, and to counteract if need be."

Peter nodded his assent. He hadn't thought of that. In a sense, he was endangering things if he could not stamp down the influence of the Mad Monk on his thoughts.

"And now, unless I'm mistaken, we should have just enough time to get you to your first Muggle Studies class. Do convey my salutations to Professor Burbage, will you?" The professor smiled warmly, the grim thoughts of a potential traitor seemingly forgotten. "You will, of course, need your supplies for class, and, of course, proper attire. _Accio!_"

Taken aback by the sudden change in the man's behavior, Peter scarcely had time to react as a satchel came flying towards him. He caught it by the strap, and opened it. Inside, neatly folded, were his school clothes, some parchment, quills and ink, and his Muggle Studies textbook. "Thank you, Headmaster…"

Professor Dumbledore, however, was already gone.

"Over here, Piotr!" his sister called from the Muggle Studies class. She was sitting next to Cedric, and had an open seat on her other side. He moved to join her.

"What did you do?" Cedric asked, indicating the eye patch.

"My brother can be such a klutz sometimes," Illyana chimed in. "We were going to try out your Quidditch pitch this morning, just to keep our hand in, y'know? And Peter here takes a broom to his eye! I mean, he still has the bruise from banging his head downstairs, and now he's got to wear an eyepatch. Couldn't you just die?"

Cedric blinked at her, taking a moment to process her rapid-fire delivery. "So, you play Quidditch, then?"

"Er," Peter began, before his sister laid a hand on his arm.

"You bet!" she said, brightly, "Though we don't have enough players for a whole Cup like you have here. 'Swhy we don't play Quodpot either, 'cause who wants a ball that explodes in your face, y'know?"

"I've never played it."

"That's right, you're a Seeker on your House team, right? Hard to imagine a tall guy like you playing Seeker."

Cedric nodded, "It was touch and go there, actually. I'd originally tried out for Chaser. Say, maybe this weekend you and your friends would like to have a friendly game? We can probably scrounge up enough players for a full game."

"Snowflake, I do not know-", Peter began.

"We'd be delighted. I'll grab Kitty and Rachel and we'll be there! Just tell Peter when, ok?"

Peter frowned, but there was no time to argue as class was starting. He smiled at the class project for the year – to assemble a working, internal combustion engine. He'd taken enough classes at the Institute, and while he wasn't a gear head like Scott, he decided that this would be a much easier class than Potions.

Later that night, the four X-men had assembled in the Room of Requirement.

"What do you mean, you agreed that we would all play this stupid game this weekend?" Rachel was furious. She had struggled in her first Transfiguration class and hadn't like the experience. Now she had been told of Cedric's invitation to a friendly Quidditch match, and it had not gone well. "I have a crapload of homework to do, and who the hell determines essay length by literal inches?"

"You'll be fine, Rachel, and who knows, this could be fun!" Kitty was fairly enthusiastic. She was fairly athletic as it was, and her time as one of the pitchers in any given X-men baseball game led to her assignment as one of the Chasers. "What'll they get a load of my curve Quaffle."

"Peter can be keeper, he's used to defending stuff, and Rachel will be a Chaser with Kitty. I'll be a Beater. My good old Soulsword arm should come in handy."

"Do we not need a Seeker?" Peter asked.

Illyana laughed, "Oh, we can tell them that none of us played Seeker at home. Now, let's see what this room can do!" With her thought, the Room of Requirement seemed to expand in size, taking on the appearance of a Quidditch pitch. Brooms, Quaffles and Bludgers appeared at their feet. She grabbed a broom, climbed aboard and took off into the air. "Come on!"

Peter sighed, and hoped that he wouldn't do anything that warranted another trip to Madam Pomfrey's.

Three hours later, exhausted from their practice, they snuck out of the Room, drenched in sweat and covered with bruises. Peter had struggled as Keeper, his depth perception impaired by the patch. Rachel had found herself liking the experience more than she thought she would, and ended up being a better flyer than Illyana, a fact that she was happy to rub in the blonde's face. It was all Peter and Kitty could do to keep the Russian girl from spending the rest of the night practicing.

"But I'm the witch, well, the sorceress, but whatever, in real life! I should be the best!" she whispered fiercely as the walked back under a telepathic cloak of invisibility.

"They don't know that," Kitty responded, "And hush!"

The route was circuitous, winding from Ravenclaw tower, down to the basement to drop off Illyana in the Slytherin dungeon, and over to Hufflepuff's entrance for Piotr.

"Thank you, Rachel," he said, "I wish you and my sister could get along better. Katya has room enough in her heart for both of you."

"Says the guy who gave her a ring," Rachel said dryly, but with a slight smile. "It's probably my imagination, but 'Yana seems to be trying extra hard to get my goat lately. Maybe I'm doing the same. Who knows? Guess it would be easier on you if we could be like you, Kurt and Logan, huh?"

"_Da,_" he agreed, "But we ourselves did not always get along so well. Wolverine and I had many, many differences when we first joined the X-men."

"Perhaps there's hope for us yet, then," she said, "Good night, Peter."

"Good night, Rachel."

He stumbled to the showers, and let the waters sluice off the days exertions, mindful to not get his eyepatch wet. Cursing himself for not having thought ahead, he managed to use a scourgify spell on his running clothes, and headed off to bed.

* * *

No excuses, sorry about the delay. Will try to do better. All characters owned by Marvel and JK Rowling respectively. Have a wonderful 2013!


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